


Cerulean

by Raicheru



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (This contains more Fem-Dom than I originally intended), Aftercare, Angst, Complete disregard for underwater physics and reality, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, Forced Oral (Chapter 4), Gags, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion-centric, Kidnapping, M/M, Merman Jaskier (sort of), No Beta (as usual), Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Temporary Transformation, magic dildos, “Kidnap the Bard” Newsletter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23377471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: While waiting for Geralt to return from a hunt, Jaskier is snatched from an inn in broad daylight and sacrificed to the sea.  He finds himself able to breathe underwater, but he's held in the clutches of sea dwellers that want to posses or use him.  He's not sure how Geralt will find him or if he'll be able to escape before he's trapped under the waves forever.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, OC Nereid/Jaskier, OC Witcher/Jaskier
Comments: 37
Kudos: 238





	1. Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a short one shot that went a bunch of places I didn't expect. I've never written OC's as main characters before and I'll understand if it's not for everyone. The entire story is from Jaskier's point of view.
> 
> I started this story and used it a as a coping mechanism when I started voluntarily isolating. I'm currently healthy but I have existing respiratory issues and I'm really scared right now. There's a lot of fantasy in this story and a strong disregard for physics and reality which is what I've been struggling with this whole time. 
> 
> Many thanks for the lovely encouragement for the “Kidnap the Bard' newsletter. I've always enjoyed writing and it's really rewarding to share it with others. 
> 
> Mild spoilers and references to “Little Sacrifice” from the books. It's my favorite Witcher short story.

Jaskier sat in the tavern waiting for Geralt to return. He'd been gone an entire day so far, but it wasn't alarming given he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for. The bard usually fought to stay at his side, but he had no intention of tromping around through a swamp searching for something that might not be there. The crowd in the tavern was sparse and nobody was in the mood for singing right now. Later in the evening when the workers came in from the farms and the fisherman returned, perhaps there would be more demand. 

The door opened and several men came in. For some reason, Jaskier felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise even though he wasn't sure why. Watching them carefully, he didn't see anything about them that would cause that kind of alarm. They went over to the bar and the innkeeper took a deep breath before nodding in Jaskier's direction. When their heads turned to him, he felt a sudden need to escape, but his body wouldn't move. When they came to his table, he forced a relaxed ease he didn't feel. Jaskier nodded at them and offered his brightest smile.

“Good day, gentleman. Could I perhaps play you a song to ease your troubled minds?”

“It's not personal,” one of them said, his voice grave. There was no malice in his eyes. If anything, there was a deep regret as the other three advanced on him.

Jaskier scrambled out of his chair, spilling his ale as the other three men moved quickly around the table to seize him. They were all larger and heavier than he was and he didn't stand a chance as they backed him into the corner and grabbed hold of him. 

“Let go!” Jaskier looked desperately around the room, but no one was looking at them. They went about their day as if nothing was happening. The bartender's lips thinned. He knew exactly what was going on, but did nothing. Jaskier's search for help gave the men enough time drag him toward the back door. He dug his heels in, fighting uselessly against their grip. “Get your hands off of me!”

A fist sank into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and Jaskier went limp in his captor's grasp as they pulled him from the room. Once they were behind the bar, a rag was stuffed in his mouth and secured with a strip of fabric before he was spun around and pressed face first into the wall. His wrists were secured behind his back with rope as the rough wood scraped his cheek. When they were done, they put him on a horse and tied him to the saddle. Mounting quickly, they rode away, taking Jaskier with them. He fought to stay on the horse without being able to hold on properly. It wouldn't listen to any of his commands. 

They road out of the village towards the west. Jaskier took one last look behind him, hoping to see a rider in black, but Geralt was nowhere to be seen. He felt his stomach drop and focused on staying mounted. Falling off the horse at this pace would injure him. After a short ride, he could smell the ocean and felt the sea breeze on his face. He had a sinking suspicion they'd be taking him out on a boat as they rode into a small shipyard, but he had no idea why. He'd been threatened before by many people, but most of them explained why they wanted to end his life. The men pulled him out of the saddle and dragged him over to a small shack where they dropped him down on a pile of nets. 

“Get the boat ready,” the leader said. “This must be done precisely for it to work.” The man waited until the other three had gone before turning back to Jaskier and pulling a knife. Jaskier pressed back into the corner, his boots slipping on the tangle of nets as he tried to get away. The other man gripped his ankle and dragged him back, making him let out a muffled yelp. 

“Shhh!” He pinned Jaskier down and waited for him to hold still before cutting the gag free. Jaskier spit out the sodden wad of fabric.

“Please. Whatever you want. . .”

“Trust me, I want no part of this. But we have no choice.” He pulled out a dark blue vial from his coat pocket. 

“What?” Jaskier had no chance to ask anymore questions as a large hand gripped his jaw and forced his mouth open. The contents of the vial were poured down his throat before the hand clamped his jaw shut and his nose was pinched closed. He was forced to swallow the vile potion as tried not to choke on the taste of salt and fish. Jaskier gasped for breath when he was released as his stomach started to roil. What was that? His breathing became labored and his eyes stung. Blinking rapidly, he was too distracted to fight as he was gagged again and his ankles were bound. 

When the other three returned, Jaskier's heart was beating hard in his chest where he lay wrapped in one of the nets. It was weighted with stones and he could barely move. His head felt like it was spinning and his vision was blurry. He could barely see and it felt like he couldn't get enough air. The four of them picked up his bundled form and hauled him out onto the dock where a small fishing boat bobbed in the water. He would have struggled but he had no strength and he was too dizzy to fight. Jaskier lay passively in the boat as they pulled away from the shore and out into the bay. 

At some predetermined point, they stopped rowing. The leader stood and threw a handful of grains out into the water while reciting something Jaskier couldn't understand. Two of them lifted him up toward the edge of the boat and Jaskier felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. He let out a muffled scream as he was dropped overboard. He thought he heard the leader whisper “I'm so sorry,” as he was hauled over the side. Jaskier sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes just before the water closed over his head. 

The weighted net pulled him down quickly and his lungs started to burn immediately. Jaskier's eyes flew open and he saw the sun shining through a cerulean curtain of water. He expected the sting of salt, but his vision was surprisingly clear. When he couldn't stand it anymore, his body forced him to exhale. Jaskier coughed and choked as he sucked water into his lungs, but to his shock, the burn eased. It dissipated completely as the last bubbles of air escaped him. He took in another lungful of water and it went into his body as easy as air. He watched the last bubbles of air rise to the surface as he sank lower. 

When the net finally settled on the bottom, a small cloud of sand rose around him in the water and settled slowly. The boat was a small speck on the surface of the water and he could see it moving back towards the shore. It was darker down here and they rays of the sun created strange shifting shadows. Jaskier wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything like it. But he couldn't lay here enthralled by the view forever. 

Twisting in the net, he tried to get his hands free. As he rolled onto his side, he came face to face with a skull. Screaming behind the gag,, Jaskier jerked back. His voice echoed with a discordant gurgle under the water. Laying next to him was a skeleton wrapped in a net. Apparently, this wasn't the first time they'd tossed someone into the ocean. A quick scan of the area showed him that he was surrounded by a cluster of nets, some of them empty and others torn open. A couple of them contained unfortunate souls like the one next to him. It was like an underwater graveyard. Jaskier turned his head away and continued to try and free himself. He didn't plan on becoming the next fish eaten corpse down here. He paused when he heard someone singing. 

A dolphin came into view above him and holding onto its fin was a beautiful, nude woman. At first he thought the greenish blue tint of her skin was a trick of the light, but as she drew closer, he could see that it was the actual color. Her long green hair drifted in the water around her head like seaweed. It was threaded with shells and colorful strings of kelp. He swallowed as she swam down to hover over him, her naked breasts bobbing gently in the water with her movements. Faint patterns of scales trailed over her ribs and down her thighs. Her eyes were a brilliant, unnatural blue.

The singing trilled out again, her voice rippling out through the water with a pleasant melody. His trained ear heard some variation of Elder Speech, but it was a dialect he didn't recognize. With deft hands, she pulled the net free and tossed it aside. Jaskier's wrists and ankles were still bound and all he could do was float in the water. She cupped his face in her hands before pulling the gag free. She sang to him again and waited for an answer. 

“Uh. Essea squaess, me hlaith. (I'm sorry, my lady),” he said in the only Elder Speech dialect he knew. “Aé n'te dice te ghar. (I don't understand).” Perhaps if they came to some kind of agreement, she could take him back to land.

She tilted her head, and pulled him close. He couldn't quiet help his body's reaction as her full breasts pressed against him. His hardening length pressed into her thigh. She smiled at him and whistled. The dolphin came over and she gripped it's fin as it darted past, letting it pull her and Jaskier through the water. But to his dismay, they were headed deeper into the ocean and not back toward shore. He struggled in her arms but she just hugged him tighter against her body. 

“Please. I need to get back to the land.” He spoke in Common, his fear overriding his attempts to communicate. “I don't belong underwater.” 

She made no indication that she understood as they traveled along through the water. Colorful fish darted past them in their wake and fanciful reef formations blurred past. Finally, they came to a stop outside an underwater cave. The woman let go of the dolphin and swam inside with Jaskier in tow. Inside, it was alive with anemone and sea grasses, almost like some kind of underwater garden. Glowing tufts of moss provided a soft, glowing illumination. The walls were lined with natural rock shelves, each one packed with colorful items and trinkets. Some were recognizable as ship parts, others were coins and jewelry. Multiple jars filled with strange objects were tucked in between. She was apparently some kind of underwater magpie. 

The glint of metal caught his eye and he saw two swords, one iron and the other silver. The cross guards were shaped like spread wings. Why would she have a Witcher's swords? Had he fallen prey to a shipwreck?

He was deposited on a brightly colored, spongy mound that gave like a soft mattress under his weight. The woman busied herself with running her hands over his clothing. Her fingers tugged at the fabric as she experimented with the buttons and ties. Jaskier squirmed under her touch. 

“My lade, if you pleeeease. . .” His voice rose nearly an octave as she cupped him through his trousers. 

She smiled and crooned at him, her tone teasing as her fingers continued to kneed. While she may not understand his words, she seemed to know exactly what she was doing. He gasped as he became hard under his touch. She had his doublet open and had pulled his shirt out of his pants to glide the fingers of her other hand along his abdomen. His belly quivered under her touch. Jaskier drew his knees up to his chest and rolled away from her. She huffed in disappointment and darted over to a nearby shelf, she came back with a sharp looking blade made of dark glass. Jaskier held still as she cut the ropes that bound him. He rubbed his tender wrists when he was free. Setting the knife down, she approached him again but he caught her hands before they could tug as his clothes. 

“Just a moment. I nearly died earlier. A man needs time to collect himself before being ravished by a beautiful woman.”

Her smile shifted to a displeased expression and her hands twisted nimbly to catch his wrists. She was much stronger than he was and he could feel the bones pressing painfully together. Jaskier gritted his teeth as he fought not to pull away. When she released him, he gauged his chances of making it to the cave entrance. He pushed away from her in the water up towards the roof, thanking the Gods his mother had insisted he learned how to swim as a child. Before she could pursue him, a lilting song floated in from outside. She turned her head to listen and sang an answer before catching his ankle and drawing him closer. 

Jaskier found himself dragged through the water to the other side of the chamber where a large round shape was anchored to the floor. It was like some sort of exotic flower. Iridescent white tendrils as thick as his wrist with purple tips waved in the current. Before he could figure out what it was, she rolled him onto his back and pushed him down into it. The tendrils immediately coiled around his limbs and pulled him in. He cried out when several of them curled up around his groin. 

“Let me go. Please!”

The singing from outside began again and she gave a terse answer as she searched her shelves again. She found a jar filled with round, black shapes and tipped one out into her palm. Coming back over to Jaskier, she cupped his cheek and when he opened his mouth to speak, she pushed the black orb between his lips. It felt sticky and before he could spit it out, she kissed him. He let out a startled yelp as the orb expanded and filled his mouth. 

She grasped the hair at his nape and tilted his head back so she could mold part of the sticky substance over lips with her fingers. The movements were efficient and practiced, like she'd done this before. It was spread over his face from his nose down to his chin and it held his lips firmly shut over the mass that filled his mouth. His arms were held firm by the tendrils and he couldn't push her away. He hummed uselessly behind the gag and pleaded with her wordlessly as she spoke a few words and blew a stream of water over his face. Whatever she did made the black substance harden in place. 

The expression on her face was no longer friendly. Despite her bipedal appearance, Jaskier was unpleasantly reminded that she was not human. Watching him with cold eyes, she ran her fingers along the edge of his soft prison and it began to fold up around him. Jaskier struggled and let out a muffled cry as the two edges met, sealing him inside. His heart started to hammer in his chest. Was it going to eat him? He could still breathe which was a small relief, and he wasn't in any pain. It was fairly comfortable actually except for the fact that he was being held captive inside a strange plant under the ocean with little chance of escape. Flexing experimentally, he tested the extent of his movement. But tugging at the tendrils made them contract and hold him tighter. They squeezed his chest hard and made it hard to breathe. It took an effort of will to relax and he was rewarded by everything around him softening enough to inhale deeply again. 

Huffing out a stream of water, he lay back and tried to calm himself. He couldn't just lay here and wait for her to come back. While she'd initially come to his rescue when he was trapped in the net, he wasn't quite sure what her intentions were. Forcing his way out wasn't an option. Jaskier moved his hand slowly, relaxing every time the tendrils appeared to tighten. It took ages and nearly more patience than he possessed. But eventually, he got closer to his goal. When he could finally reach the seam, he stroked his fingers along the edge as he'd seen her do. The plant shivered and started peeling open. 

“Human?” A heavily accented voice speaking Common spoke nearby. Jaskier jumped at the unexpected sound and the plant contracted around him again. He let out a muffled groan of frustration as all of his hard won progress was lost. The voice spoke again, but he couldn't understand what it was saying. Then the plant suddenly opened and forcefully shoved him out, spinning him in the water and making his back hit the rough rock of the ceiling. Gentle hands drew him down so he was upright again. 

“It's alright. I won't hurt you.”

Jaskier was met with gentle green eyes surrounded by a mass of ginger hair. This woman looked at him much more kindly that the other. His eyes automatically traveled down her body, over her small, round breasts to her long, pearlescent coral tail ending in cream colored flukes. She tipped his head back up with her fingers under his chin and he had the grace to appear sheepish. But she didn't seem angry that his gaze had wandered. Jaskier hummed into the gag and he tried to peel it away, but it wouldn't budge. She traced it with her fingers, her expression darkening. 

“That bitch,” she muttered before taking his hand in hers. “Come on.” 

Jaskier drew back and hummed at her again, desperate to speak. He had questions and was frustrated that he couldn't ask them. He clawed at the black mass until she finally pulled his hands away from his mouth.

“I can remove it, but not here.” She turned her head toward the entrance of the cave and listened for a moment before. “Come on, before she returns. I lured her away, but she'll soon become bored and return for you.”

Jaskier felt he had no choice but to follow her and let himself be pulled along. Once outside, she pulled him close to her body and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He frowned at her but let himself be positioned. When her arm came around his waist and held tightly, she took off like a shot, her powerful tail and flukes propelling them along. Jaskier tightened his grip and heard her chuckle, a light tinkling sound that rippled over the sound of water rushing past his ears. He couldn't tell which direction they were going. 

When they came a stop, she released him and took his hand again before leading him at a slower pace towards the massive hull of a sunken ship. It sat upright and except for the hole it its side, it was completely intact. He couldn't tell which country it had come from. The sails had long since rotted away leaving only tatters behind. Barnacles covered the surface and underwater grasses grew along the railings and mast. She led him through the breach in the side back towards what would have been the captain's quarters. Glowing fungi grew in the gaps between the wooden planks illuminating the space inside. The furniture was still intact and Jaskier was directed to sit on the edge of the table. He hooked his fingers under the edge to keep himself from drifting. 

“My name is Irulae,” the mermaid said as she started rummaging through a compartment under the bunk on one side of the room. The mattress was long gone and a bed of coral lay in its place. A hammock woven from something that looked like kelp hung from the ceiling on the other side of the room. “You had the misfortune of being found by Okestyra.” She said the name with obvious distaste. “I tried to get to you first, but couldn't get there fast enough. She likes to play with her food.” She rubbed idly at one of the golden bands that was wrapped around her wrists. A matching one encircled the tip of her tail just above her flukes.

Jaskier swallowed behind the gag and watched his most recent rescuer warily. She must have seen something in his expression when she turned back to him with a small container made of shell in her hand. 

“You have no reason to trust me, I know. But I wish to make a bargain in return for helping you.” She held up the container. “This is a salve that will release the seal on your mouth. I will do this for you no matter what you decide. But after, we will need to talk. Nod if you understand.” 

Jaskier nodded immediately, hating the enforced silence placed on him. She opened the container and dipped her finger in before applying the salve to the edge of the black mass. With slow concentration, she started to peel it away a little bit at a time. Curling her slender fingers, she pressed them into his mouth while cupping his chin with her other hand. He tasted brine as she delved deeper and peeled it off of his tongue. It felt strangely intimate even though nothing in her posture hinted at that. He watched her eyes as he tightened his grip on the table. With a wiggle and tug, he felt it pulling fee of his teeth and he gagged as it was pulled completely out of his mouth. Nimble fingers massaged his jaw gently, helping ease the soreness from trying to fee himself.

“What was that awful thing?” he asked her. His lip curled in distaste as she took it and tossed it out the porthole in the bulkhead behind her.

“A vile concoction made with unsavory magic. Be grateful,” she said gravely. “I doubt she ever intended to remove it.” 

“What?” His eyes widened in horror at the implication.

She patted his cheek gently. “Don't worry. She would have gotten bored and fed you to something long before you starved to death.” 

“Why would I worry that I was rescued from a lecherous, naked sea witch by a mermaid who is distressingly casual about my death?” His voice sounded a bit shrill even to him.

“She's not a Sea Witch,” Irulae snapped. She took a calming breath before continuing. “That requires far more training and skill than Okestyra will ever possess. I believe you would call her a Nereid. She dabbles in magic just enough to make her dangerous.” She curled her tail to stand before him and meet his eyes. “You are the only one who has survived being offered to the sea. I'm sure you saw the others where you landed.”

“What happened to the ones from the empty nets?” Not all of the nets had contained a body.

“Taken by Okestyra like you were. She likes land walkers, thinks they're exotic.” 

“How did they survive underwater?”

She looked at him like he should already know the answer. “How did you?”

“One of the assholes who threw me overboard force fed me a potion.” His voice was bitter even though the action had probably saved his life. 

“It's hard to play with something when it dies right after being thrown in the sea. The potion prolongs it and gives her time to do what she wants. You've stepped in the middle of a situation I've been trying to fix for some time now. And I need your help.” 

“My help?” He laughed. He'd managed to get himself kidnapped twice in one day and had no way of finding his way home on his own. He wasn't sure what he could offer her. 

“More precisely, I need your Witcher's help, Jaskier.” 

“How do you know my name?” Jaskier blinked at her in surprise. He didn't remember giving it to her and as much as he prided himself on being well known, he hardly expected his reputation to proceed him into the ocean.

“Sh'eenaz and I have been friends for a very long time. She spoke very highly of him.” She smiled. “And of you.”

Jaskier remembered the former mermaid from when she'd come ashore to marry the baron, but they'd never been formally introduced. But that was probably the least confusing thing about today. 

“What do you need him for exactly?” 

“The offerings need to stop, but I have been unable to convince Okestyra to stop tormenting the humans. She threatens them with devastation and floods, sprinkling a little magic to make them believe she's more powerful than she is. It's upsetting the balance between the land and sea and it's only a matter of time before they entreat with their King for help.” 

“That sounds familiar.” Jaskier looked around and sighed, his 'breath' coming out as a stream of water. “There aren't any fish people nearby, are there?” He remembered the warriors that had risen from the depths and nearly chopped him and Geralt into fish food.

“No, but this is similar.” Irulae shook her head, making her ginger hair shift in the water. “My people will unleash their fearsome weapons on the land if their fleets encroach upon their territory. Too many on both sides will die.”

“Forgive me for being forward, but why haven't your people dealt with Okestyra directly if she's the source of the problem?”

Irulae frowned. “She has magical protection. Nereids are solitary and don't associate with each other. They've refused to intervene. The Mer have tried, but everyone who had attempted to end her has been cursed to breathe only air. Even the sea creatures that were sent in their stead were affected. None of them survived.” 

“And you think Geralt will be immune to this?”

“It hardly matters,” she said with a shrug. “He walks on the land and doesn't breathe water anyway. It's an ideal situation.” 

Jaskier wasn't sure it would be so simple. It never was. His thoughts were interrupted by a discordant gurgle from his stomach. He felt his cheeks flush with heat as Irulae's brows rose and a small smile pulled at her lips. Jaskier couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He'd been snatched just after breakfast, but he had no idea what time it was now. They were so deep under the ocean, the change in sunlight didn't matter. He was also thirsty, ironically enough. 

“How am I supposed to drink underwater?” he mused aloud. 

“There are ways,” Irulae said as she moved to another chest. “It rare, but you're not the first air breather to visit beneath the waves. Have a seat.” 

Jaskier went to stand and ended up pushing himself toward the ceiling It took a little coordination, but he was able to maneuver himself so he settled on the bench that sat along the wall with his legs tucked under the table. For the first time since being dropped in the water, he was able to take stock of himself and how it felt to breathe while submerged. His hair moved in a waving corona of strands around his head and the fabric of his clothes dragged at every movement. He began to appreciate why the undersea folk he'd met were nude. But he wasn't about to strip. He tucked his shirt back into his trousers so it wouldn't flap about his waist so much. 

Irulae brought over a jar of clear orbs and and a bowl of objects that looked like multi-colored berries the size of large grapes. 

“The sea berries are were picked this morning and these were made from fresh water. I can make more if this isn't enough.” She indicated the clear orbs. Taking one from the jar, she popped it in her mouth to prove it wasn't harmful. Jaskier took one and carefully placed it on his tongue. It popped like a bubble and he received a mouthful of cool water. The berries were tart, but fresh tasting. He had a sudden craving for bread, but knew he'd have to wait until he returned to dry land for that. His hunger and thirst were sated fairly quickly and he suddenly felt tired. 

“Thank you. What now?”

“For now, you should rest.” She gestured toward the hammock. ”I will take you to your Witcher, but night is falling soon and it's dangerous to travel under shadow in the waves.” 

Jaskier's heart fell. He was hoping he'd be able to return sooner than that. As generous as Irulae had been, he didn't want to stay down here. “Alright. But tomorrow we'll go, yes?” 

“Of course,” she said folding herself forward in a bow. “Goodnight.” She swam out of the room leaving him alone. 

Jaskier took his boots off, letting the cumbersome leather fall to the floor. He was spared the humiliation of trying to get into the hammock in front of an audience. He kept overshooting it, and the first time he hit it straight on, it twisted and dumped him out again. Finally after experimenting, he managed to settle himself in the nettled cradle. It was pretty comfortable all things considered. He lay in the hammock in the dim light of glowing fungi with everything drifting around him on faint currents of water. This was by far the strangest situation he'd ever been in. Despite how tired he was, sleep seemed out of reach. Out of habit, he began composing and started creating lists of words associated with the ocean in his head. Cerulean shadows played across the ceiling and he hummed a melody to himself. He finally drifted off to sleep wondering what kind of instruments sea folk played.


	2. Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, for the kudos, the bookmarks, and for leaving lovely comments. 
> 
> I was going to post every day or so, but I'm impatient so it will probably be every day this week. This story is complete, so no worries that it will be left unfinished.

Jaskier woke to a horrible tightening in his throat that made it hard to breathe. Something was squeezing his neck, making dark spots dance in his vision when his eyes snapped open. Okestyra floated above him with her hair waving around her face in a chaotic halo and a condescending sneer on her face.

“You thought that pathetic excuse for a mermaid could save you from me?” she asked sweetly, her tone hiding venom underneath. Her lightly accented Common was clear and easy to understand. Just when he thought he'd pass out, she released her grip on his throat. Cool fingers brushed down his cheek and he turned his face away. 

“Please, don't touch me.” Jaskier's roughened voice wavered and she just laughed as if she were delighted by his fear. 

“Poor little human,” she crooned. “Don't you know you belong to me now?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No.” 

She just chuffed a short laugh as Jaskier tried to roll out of the hammock and only managed to twist it around himself. Pulling the edges of the hammock closed around him, she tied it off in a few places to keep him trapped inside. She unhooked it from the ceiling and carried him out of the room. He twisted in the net but it had been tied too tightly to get loose. In the main part of the ship, Irulae's tail was anchored to the floor by a coil of kelp wrapped around the end just above her flukes. Her arms were bound behind her and her mouth was sealed by a black mass that was smeared messily over the lower part of her face. When she saw Jaskier, she jerked against the restraints and threw muffled curses at Okestyra.

“Serves you right for taking something that doesn't belong to you,” the Nereid said casually as she swam up to the struggling mermaid. Holding Jaskier's hammock net in one hand, she gripped Irulae's chin in the other. “Don't ever lie to me again.” 

Shoving Irulae away hard enough for her to lean back on her tail, Okestyra turned and left the ship. She deposited Jaskier in the front of a strange chariot made of coral and settled behind him. Grabbing the reigns, she set the four harnessed dolphins in motion. It didn't take them long to get back to the cave, but they didn't stay long. Okestyra went in and came back out with a pouch loaded with items. Jaskier heard the clink of jars as it settled in his lap and tried not to think about what might be inside as they set off again.

The light streaming through the water became lighter but Jaskier didn't dare hope that they were heading toward land. The chariot came to rest in a courtyard surrounded by crumbing, carved columns. As he was pulled up and tucked under Okestyra's arm, he saw a sunken temple rising up before them. Faceless statues eroded by time and the sea lined the entrance hall. 

They entered a large, main hall that was lit by twisting coral chandeliers hung high above them with glowing orbs, creating a soft glow and indistinct shadows. The room was filled with strange, colorful underwater flora. Plants and swaying growth covered nearly every inch of the walls and ceiling. Every surface that wasn't covered in plants was cluttered with more shiny objects, scavenged pieces of ships, and more jars. To one side, Jaskier saw a round shape waving with tendrils like the one he'd been trapped in before, its tips a delicate pink. The whole place looked alive and it might have been beautiful under other circumstances. 

At the center of the chamber, there was a large stone altar that sat at the top of a wide dais. A large ornate throne with cracked carvings along its edges sat behind it. Jaskier was uncomfortably reminded that he'd been sacrificed to the sea, but he wasn't quite sure what that meant. He was set down on the altar, still tangled in the hammock net and he shifted to stretch the kinks out of his muscles. Okestyra eyed him and he huffed, impatience overriding his fear for a moment.

“I'm just stretching. It's not like I have anywhere to go.”

“You're suddenly bold,” she said as she set down the pouch on the the throne and came over to sit on the edge of the altar. Her hand slid beneath the net and tugged his shirt back out of his trousers so she could reach his bare skin. Jaskier swallowed hard and squirmed beneath the touch. 

“What do you want with me?”

“I like to collect things.” 

“I'm not an object to be collected,” he said, feigning courage he didn't feel. He fought not to cringe as she leaned in over him.

“You're anything I want you to be,” she hissed. He shivered as Okestyra rose and went over to the pouch and returned with another black orb in her hand. Jaskier's heart sped up and he squirmed back away from her.

“Please don't!” 

“It's not permanent, no matter what she told you,” she said pulling him closer. She cupped his groin, making him gasp so she could deposit the sphere in his mouth. Jaskier found himself gagged again and he whimpered, not believing her for a moment. With a kiss and a brush of fingers, it shifted in his mouth and poured into her cupped palm to become a sphere again. “See?” 

She brushed her lips gently over his before deepening the kiss and licking into his mouth. She tasted like sweet seawater and Jaskier moaned, suddenly wanting to please her more than anything. He pressed forward, frustrated that his hands were trapped in the kelp net. She pulled back and pushed him down onto the stone altar. Jaskier's thoughts suddenly cleared and his eyes widened with fear. It was as if his thoughts and actions hadn't been his own. He suddenly knew just how powerless he was against her.

“Just a taste,” she said with a chuckle. He was really starting to dislike her laugh. She played idly with his hair. “Had I wished for mindless fawning, yesterday would have gone much differently.” 

She pressed the orb into his mouth again and he didn't even try to fight her. He hummed as it pressed his tongue down but lay still as she took her time molding it over his lips. As much as he hated it, he wasn't quite so blindly terrified now that he knew it could be easily removed. If she chose. When she was done, she pulled out a few more black orbs and rolled them between her hands to combine them into a larger sphere. Jaskier watched quietly as she pulled one of his hands free of the net and spread his fingers so she could smear the black substance over each one. It coated his palms and she manipulated it to spread between his fingers, creating thin membranes in between. When it solidified, it remained a little flexible, but he couldn't bend his fingers all the way anymore. He experimented with his range of motion while she did the same thing to his other hand. 

It wasn't hurting him, but he wasn't sure what she was doing. After both hands had been converted into fins, she pulled out the black glass knife and cut the kelp netting away before moving to start on his clothes. Jaskier started to squirm away when he realized she was going to cut his clothing off instead of just undressing him. She gripped his neck tightly and pinned him down against the stone. 

“I will tie you down if you don't hold still. You won't like it.” 

He didn't like any of this. Taking a shuddering breath, he let it out in a sigh of defeat and surrendered to her as he lay back and closed his eyes. A single tear was swallowed by the seawater surrounding them. The knife was sharp enough that he didn't hear any tearing. She deftly guided the blade with her free hand so he knew where she was cutting. When she prodded him with her fingers, he responded obediently by lifting his hips so she could pull the remains of his trousers and small clothes away. He cock lay flaccid on his belly, his underlying fear overriding any other sensation. A tender kiss was pressed against his thigh, but she didn't do anything beyond that before starting to cut his doublet and shirt. The front of the garments were cut away, but she left him laying on the back section of fabric. It gave him a thin cushion between his skin and the stone. 

Jaskier started trembling, his body shaking with small tremors and he couldn't stop. Okestyra moved away from the alter and started singing, her voice melodious and light as she gathered items from shelves around the room. He lay on the stone and started to focus on his breathing. If he was going to survive this, he couldn't let himself panic. He slipped into a soft state of mind to concentrate. Drawing on his singer's training, he breathed in and out slowly, letting her song lull him. He wished he could sing himself. It was always a balm to his nerves when he was stressed. He bit sullenly at the tough substance in his mouth that kept him quiet. 

Turning his head, he saw her working over at a table against the wall. She was adding things to a hollowed out depression that functioned as a large, natural bowl. Reaching both hands in, she started kneading like she was making bread, her song shifting to something more structured and specific. Jaskier's eyes widened as she drew her hands up. Long, black stretches of goo followed her movements. Gods, how much was she making? He let out a quavering mewl before he could stop himself. 

“Hush,” she murmured. “If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in the net.”

Dying wasn't what he was worried about at the moment. Okestyra continued stretching the material between her hands until she was seemingly satisfied with the texture. She brought over the entire mass and set it by his head. Jaskier eyed it warily but it remained still and didn't make any move toward him. Pulling off a small piece, she curled her fingers gently around his cock and squeezed. He hardened immediately despite himself and she smiled as she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the tip. His hips twitched up and he placed the palms of his hands flat against the altar as she smoothed a coating of black over his erection and wrapped it down over his balls. Moaning, he shifted his hips restlessly until she pinned him down with her hands. She held his gaze with her cold, blue eyes as she pulled him into her mouth. He felt the casing harden as her tongue swiped along the underside. He quivered as she hummed around him and pulled off with a soft pop.

Laying his fully hard length back down on his belly, she grabbed the rest of the gooey mass and flipped it out like she was unfurling a sheet. Placing it over his legs, she began to smooth it out with her fingers, pinching and molding it in several places. Jaskier's breath shuddered in the aftermath of the brief assault on his body as he felt her press it over his trapped erection. The sheet was pulled up toward his belly and along his sides in a thin layer until he couldn't tell where the seam was anymore. The Nereid's hands continued down over his legs all the way down to his toes. She moved down to the end of the altar and split the end of the black sheet before stretching both pieces down into points. Was she making. . . a tail? A breath of water and a few melodious words made the black substance shift and swell, so he could no longer see the line between his legs. He could still feel them wrapped individually inside but on the outside, they had merged into a single fish shaped appendage. 

“Turn over,” she said with a nod of her head while her hands continued to mold what appeared to be long flukes. He obeyed without thinking, rolling over onto his stomach and gingerly settling. A soft grunt left him as his weight pressed down onto his cock. Propping himself up onto his arms, he watched her over his shoulder. She pulled the edges of the sheet together along the back of his legs, starting at his feet which were now completely encased, and kept pinching all the way up to the curve of his ass. Where the edges met, they stretched into a long, fluttering line of a dorsal fin. He was tempted to bend his knees and flip the flukes, but when his muscles bunched, she gripped his bound ankles and pressed them down. “Not yet.”

He lay back down against the altar as her hands released him and ran up the back of his legs, while she blew more water and continued to sing. The covering swelled and smoothed like the front, leaving him with a long Mer tail. Okestyra kneaded his ass cheeks, spreading him so the mass could travel up his cleft and separate the globes of muscle. He huffed a soft whimper and pressed his forehead into the stone. It didn't enter him, much to his relief, but he felt it cover and squeeze until it reached his lower back. It filled in all of the space between his legs under the wrap, tucking into every crevice and creating a soft pressure against his sac. He couldn't control the buck of is hips and he flapped the flukes, desperate for friction. 

Okestyra laughed, amused by his struggles. She sat on the edge of the altar and pulled Jaskier up, turning him over so he was laying back against her with his legs/tail stretched out in front of him. Wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his, she sang a new song thick with magic. The black mass responded to the strange words by warming and changing color. He held his webbed hands up to see translucent greenish membranes forming between his fingers and cerulean blue scales along the back of his knuckles. They flashed with green iridescence in the light. It faded into flesh tones at his wrists so he couldn't tell where the bindings ended and his skin began. The glitter of scales appeared in a wave of color that spread down his body. The same colors spread down his tail, his flukes blooming with green translucence and thick blue veins. He flicked his toes and watched the green iridescent shine chase along the membranes as they fluttered in the water. 

A thick ridge of scales started to form at his hips, curling over his hip bones and dipping down below his belly button to meet in a spade shape that pointed downward toward his crotch. He felt a similar trail tightening along his back where it dipped down to a point at the top of his cleft and continued downward. It split his cheeks, tightening and separating. 

He moaned softly in the Nereid's grip as she continued to sing, his webbed hands traveling down to slide over his trapped cock. The warmth was causing an almost painful tightening arousal below. She slid her hands under his, rubbing along the larger scales until a hidden slit lined in bright, purplish red opened and the crimson tip of his erection pushed its way out of the seam. She pressed down, forcing it out one inch at a time, the red faded into purple at the base. The flat color and fleshy texture of the rod made it stand out from the shiny jewel tones of the rest of him. His balls squeezed out of the opening encased in a glittering blue coating of tiny scales that matched his tail. When he had fully emerged from the hidden pouch, a shining purple ridge formed and tightened around the base.

“You are beautiful, little fish,” she murmured in his ear.

Jaskier flapped the tail, his shining flukes flashing in the water as he was brought to the edge of release. She caught his flailing hands and tucked them against his chest while murmuring foreign words and continuing to sing. Jaskier's body went ridged as he came, his muffled voice crying out in a long, shuddering wail. It shook his entire body and he struggled to move helplessly as it crashed over him. As he came down from his peak, he felt himself begin rocked from side to side in Okestyra's arms. He lay there, unable to gather the strength to move as he drifted into a half sleep. 

When Jaskier came to full consciousness again, he was laying curled on his side on the altar with the remains of his clothing bundled under his head for a pillow. The gag was gone from his mouth and his cock was once again tucked away out of sight, but the webbing on his hands and the tail remained. He flexed his fingers, dismayed that he still couldn't bend them all the way. He probably wouldn't be able to grasp anything in his hands. 

Pushing himself up in the water, he moved into a floating position and was surprised he didn't sink. He moved his hands, finding purchase in the water with the webbing between his fingers. Shifting and pushing, he rolled in the water and tried to coordinate the kick of his legs to swim as he'd seen Irulae do before. But while she'd been sinuous and graceful, he just felt awkward. Turning again, he saw Okestyra sitting in the throne watching him with a lazy smile on her face and he suddenly felt self-conscious. Stilling himself, he watched her carefully. She crooked her finger, silently telling him to come closer. He was reluctant to give up his limited, but relatively enjoyable freedom, but didn't dare cross her. He'd already seen that she was quick to anger if he didn't comply immediately.

Lowering himself carefully, he swam over. She curled her fingers around the end of his tail and reeled him in. It wasn't a violent or impatient movement, just a slow pull until she'd settled him in her lap. He folded his hands in his lap, unsure of what she wanted from him. She held up a bowl of clear and crimson orbs. The clear ones were probably water, but the others looked disturbingly like blood. He didn't bother to reach for them knowing that he wouldn't be able to pick anything up. 

“You learn quick.” Okestyra nuzzled his neck. “I'm not sure if I like that. Sometimes I prefer a challenge.” 

Jaskier closed his eyes and didn't say anything. He wasn't entirely sure if she knew what she wanted either. A sphere was pressed gently against his lips and he opened his mouth to accept it without knowing what it was. He was rewarded with a burst of fresh water. Swallowing in relief, he blinked his eyes back open and allowed his head to be pulled down so it rested on her shoulder while she fed him more water.

“You are by far, my finest creation,” she said, picking up one of the crimson orbs and holding it up for him. When it burst on his tongue, the tart taste of fine wine filled his mouth. It was an incredibly good vintage, bright and crisp, and the corner of Jaskier's lips curled up. Here he was, the captive of an underwater sorceress, and he was contemplating the quality of the spirits she served. 

“Oh, you actually have functioning taste buds, unlike the philistines before you.” Her voice held delight, like he'd just performed a trick. He found himself conflicted between humiliation and a small flush of pride that he'd done something to please her. 

“How many others have there been?” he asked her quietly. Jaskier was compelled to ask even if he was afraid of the answer. If she was responsible for the underwater graveyard that had almost claimed him, there were many.

“I don't keep count. Experimentation requires sacrifice. Not all humans respond well to living underwater, even with the potion.” She spoke casually, like she was discussing the weather instead of dozens of people who drowned when they failed to adapt. “But even among my successes, none took to the transformation as well as you.” She kissed his jaw lightly and kept her mouth pressed there. Speaking with her lips still against his skin, she whispered. “I could make it real. I could bend your bones, mold your flesh, and give you all those beautiful scales forever.”

“Please don't.” Jaskier's fingers clenched as much as they were able to in the webbing and he started trembling again. It was one thing to be bound as he was. But he didn't want to be trapped down here for the rest of his life. There was still a chance he could return to land. She nipped and licked at his skin, making him squirm.

“I wouldn't do it of course,” she laughed, once again seeming to enjoy his discomfort. “The Mer bore me. They're barely useful as servants and are less than satisfying as partners. I like you far better as you are. Something Other, trapped between the two worlds. And all mine.” Her arm curled around his waist possessively as she popped another wine bubble into his mouth. He sat passively and let her feed him. 

He'd once been lured into a similar position by the husband of a duchess who had some rather peculiar hobbies. The man had been handsome and charming and Jaskier had no inhibitions about flirting with him all night. But after being drugged in his room, he'd woken up in the duke's secret bedchamber deep under the manor. He'd remained a prisoner there for days until he'd been able to bribe a servant to free him. Jaskier had been gently kept with silken sheets, velvet ties, and very few clothes. The duke had gone out of his way to make sure he'd remained comfortable in his captivity, but Jaskier had been extremely careful since then. He refused to become anyone's possession and he hated being kept anywhere against his will. No amount of food and wine could make up for that. There was more than one reason he'd brought Geralt with him to Cintra as his bodyguard.

This was a little more extreme. Despite being subject to the duke's admiration and interest in tying knots, he'd never been afraid that the other man would physically hurt him. His desires hadn't included pain or humiliation, only art and pleasure. Okestyra didn't seem to have problems inflicting either of those things. But he supposed it could be worse. She seemed intent on taking care of him and meeting his needs to some extent. Along with the water and wine, there were more sea berries, and several types of fish. At first, he pulled back when the pale, raw flesh was offered to him.

“This is considered a delicacy in some parts of your world. It won't hurt you.” 

Gingerly accepting it, Jaskier chewed on the soft meat, surprised at how fresh and satisfying it tasted. After emptying the dish, he slumped against her and relaxed. For the first time since he been taken out of the tavern, he felt sated and full. The final thing she held up to his mouth was a dark blue orb that shone with a shadowy light. It pulsed with the same kind of magic he'd felt before.

“What is it?” 

“Drink it willingly or by force. I've devoted far too much effort into you to let it go to waste by letting you drown.”

Jaskier took it and let it break in his mouth, trying not to gag on the taste of salt and fish. It was another dose of the potion he'd been given before. He breathed steadily for a few moments as a brief wave of dizziness washed over him. But his stomach stayed steady and his vision remained clear. Another bubble of wine washed the taste from his mouth. 

“So it's not permanent.” 

“No. You will need to drink it every day. Keep that in mind if you ever think about trying to escape me.” 

Jaskier's heart sank. He didn't think they were more than a day from shore, but with his luck, he'd get lost if he tried to leave on his own. Maybe he could get back to Irulae and she could help him escape like she planned. But he'd have to get out here first. As if summoned by his thoughts, Irulae's voice rang from the entrance hall and she came swimming into the main hall. Somehow she'd gotten free.

“Okestyra, you bitch!!” Her eyes widened when she took in Jaskier's current state. He felt Okestyra smile against his throat where she had started pressing lazy kisses. 

“Pretty, isn't he?” Okestyra's voice was smug and Jaskier felt his cheeks flush. 

“Your work is impressive, as always,” Irulae said, her voice tight. But her mouth curled into a cruel smile after a moment. “I know you enjoy possessing things that belong to others. But one of these days, you're going to take something you can't pay for.” 

“You mean the Witcher?”

Irulae jerked as if she'd been slapped. “How do you. . ?”

“How did I find out about the White Wolf?” She squeezed Jaskier to her almost painfully tight. Okestyra laughed, a terrible sound full of condescending humor and superiority when Irulae glared at Jaskier. “No, my little fish hasn't had the opportunity to sing for me yet. Sh'eenaz just has a big mouth.”

“She'd never talk to you.”

“Perhaps not, but you are not the only one she told. I am well aware of the Witcher and what he can do. My power and influence extend beyond the sea. Who do you think paid the villagers to give him a false contract to separate him from his little bard? I needed some space to have him brought here so I could teach him how to swim.”

“So it wasn't random?” Jaskier asked, floored by the idea that she'd specifically chosen him. He thought he'd just drawn the short straw that day.

“Of course not, little fish.” She purred in his ear. “I am very particular about my collection. Did she spin you that sad story about balance between the sea and the land and retribution from 'her people' and their terrible weapons?” Okestyra's laughter was loud and it echoed through the chamber. It settled into a condescending sneer. “Nobody here cares what I do to humans. Irulae is a pathetic outcast who begged me to save her and now she's regretting her choices. She'd do and say anything to be free of me.”

Irulae looked furious. “You're not worried that the Witcher will find you, then? I hear the White Wolf will go to great lengths to retrieve this one from harm.” She crossed her arms and tried to appear threatening. 

“I doubt he'd make it this far. And even if he does, he has no power here.” Okestyra waved a hand. “Begone. I have no need of you right now. Stay in your hovel until I call.” 

Irulae shot Jaskier one last look before leaving, but if she was trying to tell him something, he wasn't sure what it was. Despite how defiant she appeared, the mermaid left without arguing further. When they were finally alone, Okestyra gathered him in her arms and kicked off from the throne towards the far corner of the chamber. There was a large, round opening in the floor he hadn't noticed before and she swam directly towards it. Turning gracefully in the water, she angled them both down through into a lower level of the temple. It was darker down here and the only light came from a few softly glowing globes that were tucked into nooks in the rock walls. 

A wide layer of flowering sponge was surrounded by soft looking objects that looked like cushions lay over to one side. It was obviously being used as a bed and it looked lush and comfortable. But Jaskier was carried beyond it over to a large stone arch that stood at the end of it. Thick straps hung limply from iron rings that were bolted into the stone at regular intervals around the inside edge. Additional anchor points dotted the floor around the raised base. He tensed in her arms, not liking the look of it. Okestyra set him down in the water and placed her hands on his hips as she leaned in to kiss him. Jaskier pressed closer, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sink into her. 

He barely noticed her securing a wide belt around his waist. It was made from the same substance that had created this tail and fins but It was dark brown and was the closest thing to leather that could be used underwater. Positioning him in the center of arch while still savoring his lips, she attached a strap from each side of the arch to the belt to hold him in place. His arms were pushed behind his back and he arched his body to comply with the position as her breasts pressed into his chest. He'd do anything she wanted. A harness of straps was wrapped around his wrists, forearms, elbows, and biceps, with his palms pressed together. At the top of the harness, more straps came up under his arms and attached to the arch above his shoulders. Only then did she pull away. Jaskier came back to himself to find his body strapped in place with only his head and tail free. But he worried they wouldn't stay that way for long. 

“Why?” he asked, trying to shake the fog of her compulsion away. 

“Because I can,” she replied, her voice distracted as she scanned his body while planning what to do next. She swam closer with more straps in her hands. Jaskier flexed his tail and flicked his flukes, but he was strapped in too tightly to free himself. She held a soft looking red bulb that was strung on a large strap. It was connected to several other loose straps and she held it up in front of his mouth. “Open.” 

He looked her in the eyes, but didn't see anything that would help him. He opened his mouth slowly and waited, trying not to feel disappointed in himself. She pressed it in and settled it behind his teeth before securing the thick strap behind his head to hold it in. His lips were stretched around the bulb and it held his mouth open. A strap was looped under his chin and tightened, locking his jaw tightly around it. By the time she was done the the rest, his head was held firmly in a harness that was secured to the top of the arch and on both the right and left sides. His tail was last and she wrapped straps in crisscrossing diamond patterns all the way down until she got to his ankles. A large anchoring strap was attached to the floor beneath him and two others ran from the side of his ankles to the right and left sides of the arch. 

Whining helplessly behind the gag, Jaskier struggled, twisting and twitching in the restraints. He felt like he was on display. While he'd been tied up and admired by lovers before, it had always been with consent and love. Every step had been a careful negotiation of mutual pleasure full of heat and desire from both parties. Right now, he felt so helpless and small. He had no say and even if he could speak, it was clear she didn't care what he thought. All she cared about was control and her own desires. He was just a thing and not a person. It was a frightening feeling, not knowing what she was going to do to him and he shivered as cold dread settled into his gut. 

“How beautiful you are, fighting even though you know it's useless.” 

She swam in lazy circles around him, examining him from all angles and watching him twist in the straps before coming closer. She trailed her fingers down his chest, moving over his abdomen before coming to settle over his groin. He let out a muffled mewl and tried to pull his hips back as she rubbed slowly at the scales there to release his cock. She took her time, easing it out with excruciating slowness. At the same time, he felt the line of thick scales down his cleft tightening and spreading his ass open. Okestyra held up another object while she finished teasing him out. He felt his cock emerge fully when his balls finally popped out of the hidden pocket and settled with the thick purple base ring sealing him in the open air. In her hand was an identical replica of his transformed Mer penis right down to the glittering scales covering his sac. It glistened with a thick layer of something that made it shine. 

“I made this while you were asleep earlier. Every man should be able to enjoy himself,” she said with a crooked smile before swimming around behind him. He tried to twist his head to watch her but he was held tightly by the straps. The tip pressed against his entrance and Jaskier groaned as he felt himself being opened to accept it. He'd always known that he was narcissistic to a degree, but being fucked with his own cock wasn't something he'd ever imagined happening. He wasn't the largest he'd ever encountered, but he considered himself well endowed and he felt the sweet stretch of girth pushing its way into his body. Though he hadn't been prepared first, his body felt flushed and ready as Okestyra sang to him. She didn't seem interested in inflicting pain which was a small comfort he didn't have time to contemplate. The shaft kept moving inward even after she removed her hands and swam towards the bed. Reclining among the cushions, she lay back and admired him from a distance. 

Jaskier rocked his hips as much as the straps would allow as the intrusion sank deeper until he felt the balls of the object cupped between his cheeks. When Okestyra curled her fingers, it pulsed and shoved forward making his hips twitch and snap towards her. Patterns of light danced wildly on the walls from the reflections of his scales as he moved. She sang a few notes and he felt the scales on his backside shifting to seal it in and hold it in place. His body wasn't quite enough to accommodate the entire thing, but it remained buried deep, making him feel full. It pushed back and forth a little, slowly fucking him at a steady pace. Jaskier bit and sucked at the gag in his mouth, humming and groaning around it as he became less aware of what was going on around him. He felt arousal build and recede in steady waves, but it never rose enough to make him come. 

Jaskier drifted in and out of consciousness, half awake, but never really sleeping because his arousal would wake him just as he drifted off. Desperate, he tried to buck his hips hard and fast to build himself toward release, but the intrusion would still and the sensations would halt, bringing him down enough to almost fade completely. He had not idea how long he was held at the edge of the precipice. He hung in the straps, exhausted and breathing heavily. When he felt it move inside him again, he sobbed a moan, nearly at the point of tears. Okestyra finally seemed to take pity on him and came over to kiss his cheek. She curled her fingers around him and stroked while the cock inside him thrust in deeper, pressing it's balls against the edge of his entrance. He pressed against her hand and crested with a long, drawn out moan. She continued to massage him through his climax, drawing it out almost to the point of pain before finally pulling away. 

Jaskier was left twitching, his muscles inside and and out quivering in the aftermath as she tucked his cock back inside. He barely felt her gentle touches and kisses. Pulling the intruder slowly out of him, she let it fall to the floor. It was joined by discarded straps she as she started unhooking them one by one and letting them fall. She carried him over to the bed and cradled him against her as she fed him water bubbles and smoothed a hand down his back. He felt wrung out and listless, his mind fogged and his body sore. Finally, he slept curled against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about writing a bit about Jaskier's time with the duke and I've started a few paragraphs. But it may take some time because I want the conversation to feel natural. It's like when I try to role play charismatic DnD characters and I end up fumbling. It's a struggle to write witty banter because I'm not very charismatic myself. But I'll keep at it and see what I come up with.


	3. Collection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured, Geralt is on the way, but he won't show up until next chapter.

Jaskier was alone when he woke curled up in the sponge bed. He stretched slowly and straightened out his body but wished he could spread his legs. They felt cramped tucked into the tail sheath and his hips were aching. At least his hands were held in a comfortable position so his fingers weren't cramping. He still felt tired. It was like he was getting less rest every time he slept here. 

Looking around the room, he took in details that he'd missed the first time. The straps still lay in a heap on the floor at the foot of the stone arch, but the replica she'd shoved into him wasn't there. Scanning the walls, he saw it on a shelf along with several others. He let out a shuddering breath. There had to be more than a dozen, all in strange, vivid colors and many shapes and sizes. Pushing himself up in the water, he went closer despite himself. They sat upright on rounded sacs covered in scales of blue, green, and gold that winked in the light. Their colorful veined shafts looked almost obscenely like flesh. His hand reached out to one that caught his eye. It was a deep amber that faded into a dark red with a large sack covered in sparkling purple scales. It wasn't the largest or most impressive looking, but his fingers itched to feel what it would be like in his hand.

“Would you like to experience one of your predecessors?” 

Jaskier snatched his hand back at the sound of Okestyra's voice and he turned himself in the water to face her. Words escaped him and he swallowed, but it appeared she didn't expect an answer as she swam over to join him. 

“It's interesting that you'd be drawn to this one,” she said as she took the amber shaft from the shelf and held it in her hands. Curing her fingers around the base, she held it out trailed the tip of it down his chest. “Has your Witcher ever graced you with his cock?”

Jaskier closed his eyes, his heart aching to return to the surface. His relationship with Geralt had changed years ago into something deeper. Whenever they parted for a long length of time, their reunions always began with desperate kisses, grasping hands, and instant satisfaction to make up for the time they'd been apart. But most of the time, they stayed together, both of them preferring to travel together now than alone. She was watching him when he opened his eyes again.

“You miss him, don't you?” From the look on her face, it was obviously a rhetorical question. There was no empathy in her expression. Based on what Irulae had said, Okestyra probably enjoyed the fact that she was keeping him away from Geralt and he clenched his jaw. She smiled and held up the shaft in her hands and ran her fingers along the underside of its balls. He watched with widening eyes as a silver shape emerged from the purple scales to hang dangling beneath. It was the shape of a hexagon with wire wrapped around the outside ridge. In the center was a raised image of a bird in flight. It was a Witcher's medallion, but he'd never seen one like it before. The wings reminded him of the swords in the cave.

“Who was he?”

“A Witcher who thought he could best me,” she said, her voice smug as he pressed in close, cornering him against the shelves with the shaft between them. The medal of the medallion was cool against his skin. “He made the mistake of accepting a contract to kill me long ago.”

Jaskier turned his head when she leaned in, not wanting to turn into a mindless, rutting thrall from her kiss. His eyes landed on the stone arch and the straps that lay in a heap on the floor. He wondered how much time the unnamed Witcher had spent in restraints and at her mercy. She pressed her cheek to his and looked in the same direction.

“It took so long to break him.” She chuckled against his ear as she nuzzled him. “I wonder how long yours would last.”

Jaskier tried to imagine Geralt in her clutches but just couldn't picture him losing and becoming her prisoner. Jaskier had grown beyond the rampant hero worship he'd developed in their first months together, but the other man was like a force of nature. He knew he wasn't invincible, but he had faith that Geralt could beat her. Somehow. He wished he'd come find him. 

“Come.” Okestyra placed the amber shaft back on the shelf with the medallion hanging over the front edge. It held a place of pride in the center of the display. Taking his wrist in her fingers, she led him up and out of the lower chamber and through the main hall. He had to concentrate to coordinate his kick so he could propel himself to keep up with her. She seemed to be feeling patient this morning and gave him time to learn instead of just dragging him along, for which he was grateful.

“Where are we going?” He'd been mildly afraid that she'd tie him up again and use the Witcher's shaft on him. 

“You'll see.” They traveled outside to the chariot that sat waiting and she pulled him in front of her to sit in her lap. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she held the reigns in her other hand. He was able to see where they were going in this position and he tried to mark any landmarks in his mind. But the ocean was such a strange place that his mind had a hard time retaining the information. And it all looked the same to him even though he knew it probably wasn't.

As they crested a small rise, a valley spread out before them with rows upon rows of flowering bushes. There was a small building made of carved stone tucked into the side of a nearby cliff that had been cut into the rock. A merman with a brilliant purple tail and shining copper flukes was harvesting sea berries on the far side of the field. His long chestnut hair was pulled into a thick braid that was threaded with colorful glass beads. When he saw Okestyra, he set the basket aside so he could swim over to greet her. The color of his purple scales was eerily familiar, and Jaskier had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew what the man's cock looked like. 

It appeared that Okestyra hadn't been lying when she said she could make the tail real. There was no evidence that there were human legs under his scales with the way his long tail coiled and flexed in the water. Jaskier felt awkward and unnatural in comparison. When the merman drew close to the chariot, he folded forward in a formal bow and took Okestyra's hand so he could kiss her fingers when she regally offered it to him. The webbing between his fingers was less pronounced and didn't seem to impede the movement of his fingers. Jaskier was a little envious of his freedom and he flexed his own hands in the thick webbing and scales that kept him from bending them all the way. 

“Mistress,” the merman murmured with reverence. 

Jaskier's brows rose. Was this really a Witcher? He was certainly scarred enough to have battled monsters. Jaskier's eyes traced along the ridges of scar tissue scattered across his back. When he rose and exposed his muscular chest, he could see two rows of dotted lumps that looked like something with a large mouth of sharp teeth had tried to take a bite out of his left side. But his pale cat eyes were almost white beneath thick lashes and they raked up and down Jaskier's body when he was drawn out of the chariot. He'd thought all Witchers' eyes were gold.

“Meet Corbyn, little fish.” 

“Um. Hello,” Jaskier said, unsure of what else to say. 

“Play nice.” Okestyra pushed him towards Corbyn and got back in the chariot.

“What? Wait!” Jaskier whirled around to see her getting ready to leave. “Where are you going?”

She grinned at him as she grasped the reigns in her hands. “Do you miss me already, little fish?” 

Jaskier felt strong arms coil around his waist as he was pulled back against Corbyn's chest. He could feel warm muscle against his back and soft lips along his shoulder. 

“Don't worry, he's a surprisingly gentle lover.”

He wasn't scared of Corbyn. Jaskier just wasn't ready to have his new reality changed already and he felt anxiety creeping up to choke him. As much as she scared him, Okestyra had made herself the center of his existence and she'd said she'd put a lot of work into him. Why would she just give him away? Seeing his stressed expression, she gestured with her hand and Corbyn brought Jaskier closer. Her fingers cupped his chin gently. 

“I have things to address, little fish. I can't adequately tend to you while I conduct business.” Her gestures and words were tender but the look in her eyes was not. She flicked her gaze to Corbyn and let her eyes travel down to where his arms held Jaskier close. Jaskier had seen that mix of avarice and lust often enough to know what it meant. He didn't like that look. She wanted something and possessing him wasn't enough to fill that need. With one last crooked smile, she flicked the reigns and left, leaving a swirl of moving water in her wake. 

Corbyn sighed as he watched her go, hugging Jaskier to him. “What is your name?” 

Jaskier felt the smooth vibration of his voice against his back and shivered. The sound was deep and rich, his Cintran accent curling the words. He had to swallow before he could answer. 

“Jaskier.” He shook himself and tried to squirm out of the other man's arms. Corbyn easily held him and leaned back to start moving across the field. “Wait. I don't belong underwater. I need to get back to shore.” Now that Okestyra was gone, maybe he could finally escape. 

“You belong wherever Mistress says.” His voice was calm and matter of fact. Jaskier slumped in his grip and let himself be carried. Whatever Okestyra had done to Corbyn had made him follow her orders. If he'd been under her thrall for decades, he wondered if there was any thing left of the Witcher he'd once been. Jaskier was set down next to a basket that half full of sea berries.

“I'm not going to be much help,” he said and held up his hands. There was no way he'd be able to pick anything if he couldn't bend his fingers. Corbyn took his hands gently and examined them, his touch methodical as he tested the range of motion. 

“I am sure she had her reasons,” the other man said as he released him and picked up the basket to set it in Jaskier's arms. 

“Her reason is that she had me kidnapped and now I'm her prisoner,” Jaskier snapped, exasperation overriding everything for a moment as he shifted the basket into a more comfortable position. 

“She will take care of you.” 

Jaskier fought the urge to throw the berries. “I don't want her to take care of me! I want to go home!” When Corbyn turned to him, he growled. “If you say 'this is my home' I swear I will crown you with this basket.” 

Corbyn's brows rose, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. It was the most emotion he'd shown outside of blind adoration. He dropped a handful of berries In with the rest, but didn't say anything as he kept harvesting. Jaskier fumed and tried to calm himself. He looked out over the field. To add insult to injury, now he was farming of all things. 

The basket was almost full when Corbyn finally took it from him. He tucked it under his arm so he could curl his fingers around Jaskier's wrist and lead him towards the house. Once inside, he settled Jaskier at on of the two seats at the table before bringing the basket over to a counter along the wall. 

Jaskier caught himself watching the muscles shift across the man's back. His braid hung down between his shoulder blades, but not quite down to his waist. A ridge of copper scales ran across his lower back but didn't delve any lower. The rigid thong currently splitting Jaskier's cheeks must be specific to the sheath that kept his legs captive. Instead, Corbyn's purple scales smoothed over each cheek, creating a skintight outline over his tightly muscled backside. Swallowing, Jaskier looked away, not wanting to be caught staring.

Another doorway opened into a corridor that led farther into the house and Jaskier could see a soft looking sponge bed. Not helpful. He turned back to the main room, seeing signs of long-term habitation. Potted undersea plants and flowers sat in the windows that were set with thick glass. Strands of beads hung along the walls, glinting in the light from the glowing moss that grew along the corners. A long, scooped seat sat on the other side of the room. Every inch of exposed rock was covered in curling carvings that had been chiseled into the rock. Above the counter were shelves lined with pots and jars. One jar held water bubbles another held amber orbs that caught his attention. 

“Is that tea?”

“Yes.” Corbyn's voice sounded a little strained and he had his hands braced on the counter, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge.

“Are you alright?” 

“It will pass. Allow me a moment.” He made a small sign towards himself that Jaskier recognized as Axii before drawing in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. When he had composed himself, he took the jars of water and tea and brought them over to the table. “Forgive me. The effect is much stronger when I see her.”

“Effect?” 

“The curse she placed on me long ago. I. . .lose myself when she is nearby.” His gaze was much more clear now, his pale eyes blooming into a familiar gold that deepened to a dark honey color. Jaskier's heart started to skip. 

“Can you help me?”

“Not in the way you want.” Corbyn's expression was grave and full of remorse. “I would return you to the surface if I could, but I am as much a prisoner as you.” He held up his hands to show the coppery bands around his wrists. A wider one encircled the end of his tail just above his flukes. “I cannot leave her territory.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed. But I can make your stay here a bit more bearable.” Corbyn coiled his tail to lower himself down to Jaskier's level where he was seated. “Give me your hands.” 

Jaskier held out his hands, not daring to hope. But he was rewarded with the sounds of a soft baritone voice singing words he didn't understand. Corbyn blew a breath of water across his knuckles. The former Witcher's strong fingers kneaded at the coating on his hands, changing its shape. But he wasn't removing it.

“Can't you just take it off?” 

“I could, but you will need the webbing to move efficiently underwater.” He continued shaping, reducing the size of the webs between Jaskier's fingers and thinning the coating on his knuckles. “It is also protecting your skin. Humans are not designed to live underwater and she has not changed you.” He rolled his eyes up to Jaskier's. “Have you ever sat in a bath too long and had your fingers wrinkle?”

Jaskier wasn't sure he'd ever want a bath again after all of this, but he nodded. He'd had more than enough water for a lifetime. But it hadn't occurred to him that he'd been benefiting from his bondage. When Corbyn was done, he could finally bend his fingers all the way and he spent a few moments curling his hands into fists and stretching them out again. 

“Thank you.” 

“I am truly sorry,” Corbyn said, straightening again. “I wish I could do more.” 

“No, this is wonderful,” Jaskier said and meant it. “At least I can feed myself now.” His voice became tinged with bitterness and he saw a flush creep up Corbyn's neck as they shared a gaze full of shared humiliation. It wasn't terribly comforting and he had to look away. The other man moved away for a moment and then came back with two dark blue potion orbs. He offered one to Jaskier who curled his lips in distaste. But knowing he had no choice, he took it anyway. 

“I would tell you that you will get used to it eventually, but I would be lying. It is a modified Witcher potion and they always taste terrible.” 

Jaskier swallowed the fishy brine taste and chased it with tea and water. “I thought she'd changed you into a real merman,” he said, watching Corbyn swallow the potion with a grimace.

“She stole my legs, but did not give me gills. And I still require fresh water.” He popped a couple of the water orbs in his mouth. 

“Sorry.”

“It is my own fault,” he said with a sigh. “I thought I was prepared, but nothing in my Witcher training was of any use. I thought she was just an ordinary Nereid.” 

“What school are you from? I didn't recognize the symbol on the medallion.”

“She still has it?” Corbyn's eyes were bright. 

“Yeah, it's attached to. . .” Jaskier's teeth snapped shut with a click, suddenly not sure how to tell him where it was. The other man's eyes closed with a rueful expression. 

“Of course. She made it part of her collection.”

Jaskier cleared his throat. He wasn't exactly shy when it came to sex, but this was different. They were slaves to a sea witch, not willing partners sharing the same woman. 

“I am from the School of the Crane,” Corbyn said, getting the conversation back on track. “Sea monsters are. . .were. . . my specialty.” 

“Hmm. Geralt never mentioned that one.” Jaskier had met the remaining Wolves Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir, the cranky old uncle he'd never had. Cohen had been from another school, but he hadn't asked which one. He'd seen Cat and Manticore medallions when he and Geralt had come across fallen Witchers who'd left the Path long ago. But Crane was a new one to him. 

“Who is Geralt?”

“He's my. . .” How did he categorize him? His friend, his lover? The one he'd written a dozens songs about like a lovesick songbird? There weren't really enough words to describe him. But his feelings were probably written all over his face. Jaskier had always been open with his emotions, never having a reason to hide them. “He's a Witcher. We travel together.”

Corbyn bit his lip and looked away. Whatever he saw in Jaskier's expression seemed to pain him. “Does he know where you are?”

“I don't know. Why?”

“Because one of her greatest desires is to own another one,” Corbyn said quietly.

“Another Witcher?” Jaskier felt a sharp stab of apprehension. For the first time since being thrown overboard, he hoped Geralt wasn't looking for him. His attention was drawn by the copper bands around Corbyn's wrists as they started to glow. The other man swore quietly and stiffened, speaking between clenched teeth.

“Jaskier, listen carefully. I am not always fully in control even when she is not present.” He had yet to say her name out loud but they both knew who he was talking about. “It has been a long time since she has used me like this. But she rarely makes me injure the pretty ones.”

“Is there. . .anything I can do?” If it was anything like the way he felt when Okestyra kissed him, Jaskier knew there was nothing that would help. The other man would have no choice. But even with the reassurance, he felt nerves quivering in his belly.

“Please do not run. I could hurt you without intending to.” 

Corbyn got up from his seat and came closer. The color was fading from his eyes, leaving them pale with his pupils shrinking into thin lines. The articulate Witcher was gone and all the remained was a thrall who served Okestyra. Jaskier wondered if his own eyes faded like that when she kissed him. Corbyn took Jaskier's hands and drew him up from his seat and into his arms. He leaned in and buried his nose in Jaskier's neck, his tongue drawing a warm path along his skin. Jaskier shuddered, responding almost immediately. He enjoyed both men and women, but being held in strong arms against a muscular male chest made things tighten pleasantly even as he felt apprehension. The other man swam back towards the corridor that led to the other room and the large sponge bed.

Hovering in the water above the bed, Corbyn started kissing him slowly, taking his time sampling his mouth. He alternated between small sucking kisses and nipping bites with is teeth. Jaskier had to turn his face away to catch his breath, leaving the other man to nibble at his throat. Pressing his mouth against Jaskier's skin, Corbyn sucked and licked hard enough that it would certainly leave a mark. Jaskier hummed and placed his hands on the Witcher's chest, but he didn't push away. Strong hands ran up and down his back before drifting down the scales covering his ass. A fingertip ran along the ridge that disappeared into his cleft. Jaskier moaned and felt an increasing pressure in his groin. He reached down between their bodies to fumble at the scales, rubbing them and trying to release himself from the pouch. But it wasn't working. 

Jaskier pulled back and Corbyn let him go, his pale eyes holding heat despite the color. The other man's amber cock started peaking out of a crimson lined seam that had opened in his scales without being touched. It seemed like his responded naturally to stimulus. Jaskier found himself watching as he emerged fully erect, the purple sac spilling out and settling against a thick ridge of copper scales. The tip started leaking a thick gel that dribbled down to coat him. Corbyn moved for him again, his grip tighter than it had been before as he turned Jaskier in the water and pulled him back against his body. Jaskier felt the other man's cock sliding wetly up the seam of his ass to settle between his cheeks and he pressed at his own groin again, wanting to free himself. 

Jaskier swung his tail up, flicking his flukes in a fluttering movement as he tried to open the seam. Corbyn curled forward and brought their hips back together. His tip brushed Jaskier's opening before slipping over it and sliding up his cleft again. The powerful purple tail coiled around Jaskier's much less flexible appendage and pulled it back down, straightening his body flush against the Witcher. The bard groaned as the pressure became unbearable.

“Oh, Gods, please. . .” His voice was breathy. He fought not to be dismayed at the thought that only Okestyra might be able to give him release. His voiced rang out as Corbyn's hand slid down his abdomen and he placed two fingers on the scales below his groin. He drew the pads of his fingers up slowly, singing strange words against Jaskier's shoulder and opened the seam one inch at a time. “Ahhhmmph. . .” 

Corbyn placed the fingers of his other hand in Jaskier's mouth and pressed his tongue down. His hand curled gently around his jaw and held his mouth open, effectively gagging him but not keeping him quiet. Lurid, wet sounds escaped him as his cock was finally released into the open. He flexed and curled his tongue around the invading fingers, guttural grunts escaping him as he tried to buck his hips. The Witcher rolled onto his back and arched his body as his cock slid along his cleft again.

“Hnnrphgaahhhh!” Jaskier felt the tease of the other man sliding along him, his length pressing into the seam of his ass. He was held in a stretched position with his body laying back against Corbyn before being folded in half with the other man curled around him. They started a slow rhythm of stretching and curling, suspended in the water, copper and iridescent green flukes tangling together. With each shift of position, the thick cock slicked along his back seam and Jaskier clenched his cheeks around it as he tried to increase the friction. He tried to speed up the pace, not wanting to be teased by slow arousal, but Corbyn's arm wrapped hard around his waist, pinning them together tightly and kept moving steadily. Jaskier desperately gripped his own cock, tugging and squeezing over the thick sheath that held him. Despite the thick coating, he felt every touch as if it were bare skin and he moaned. 

Finally, the Witcher sped up as he worked himself completion rubbing against Jaskier's body. Jaskier let out a strangled moan under the man's fingers as he came, the pressure of the other man's body pressing his hips up and arching his back. They hung suspended like that for a moment before they drifted down towards the sponge bed set into the floor. Jaskier was gently released as Corbyn removed his fingers form his mouth and pulled away from him. The other man rolled away, his limbs trembling for a moment, before he swam out of the room. Jaskier was left panting and he took a few minutes to cool down. His cock was still free, but he left it for the time being. 

There were more carvings in this room with bead strands hanging in loops from the ceiling. In the glow from the phosphorescent moss, the shining points of reflected light looked like stars. Jaskier wondered how long the other man had been down here. A soft baritone floated in from the other room and Jaskier felt his shaft retreating and he carefully guided it back inside. Letting himself sink into the sponge, he tried to relax. Movement at the door caught his attention and he saw Corbyn floating there watching him. His eyes has reverted back to there natural, warm honey color. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.

“No.” Jaskier sat up and shifted over to make room, but the other man remained where he was. “Come here,” he said after a moment. “It's okay.”

“It is not okay.” Muscles ticked in Corbyn's jaw, his expression darkening. “Every time she makes me. . .” He shook his head. “I would never do these things. Not to the unwilling.” 

“It's not you, it's her.“ The other man looked dubious. “Does it feel like you're not in control, feeling things that aren't your emotions? Like your a passenger in your own body?”

Corbyn nodded. 

“I've seen enough magic and what it does to people. I don't hold grudges against anyone who's been manipulated like that.” 

“Why would you not hold me responsible? I am the one who is not strong enough to resist her.“

“You know that's not true.” Jaskier sighed and laid back, wondering how he'd ended up in the position of consoling a contrite Witcher. He closed his eyes and felt soft currents created by the other man settling beside him. 

“You are far more forgiving than those before you.” 

Jaskier considered his words before he said anything. “Had I met you under different circumstances, I would have had no hesitation taking you to bed. Willingly and enthusiastically.” He turned to look at Corbyn. “It wasn't exactly a hardship.” He'd been treated far worse by previous lovers before he'd learned to be more cautious when he chose partners.

“And you think that absolves me of any wrong doing?”

Jaskier propped himself up on an elbow and glared down at the other man. “For all the talk of Witchers having no emotions or remorse, you're all a bunch of melodramatic pricks who spend all their time blaming themselves for others people's actions.” 

Corbyn raised his brows before letting out a surprised huff of laughter. “Do you speak to Geralt in such a manner?”

Jaskier snorted and lay back down, smiling. “Always.” They lay quietly for a moment before either of them spoke again.

“Jaskier, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. I may or may not have an answer,” Jaskier said, linking his fingers over his stomach. 

“I don't know how long I've been kept away from the world. Could you tell me how Cintra fares?”

Jaskier's stomach dropped. “What's the last that you remember?” he asked before the Witcher noticed his change in mood.

“King Correl just married Eschiva of Sodden and the celebrations lasted for three weeks. That was right before I took the contract that brought me here.”

“How old were you then?” 

Corbyn looked over at him. “Is that relevant?” 

“Not really, I'm just curious.” Jaskier was doing some mental calculations. He wasn't terribly well versed in historical heraldry or royal lines, but he'd taken a keen interest in Cintra. 

“I had seen over one hundred and fifty summers when I slipped beneath the waves for the last time.”

“Wow,” Jaskier murmured. “You're over two hundred and fifty years old.” King Correl ruled more than a hundred years before Calanthe was born. 

“I've missed an entire century.” His voice was quiet and sad. “I wasn't there. Correl's bones must have crumbled to dust by now.”

“I thought Witchers didn't get involved.”

“If you have spent any time among our kind, you know how untrue that can be.” 

Jaskier snorted. He already knew that. He just wanted to see what Corbyn thought about it. While Vesemir preached neutrality, it was difficult to remain separate from a world that insisted on drawing everyone into conflict. Geralt in particular had been forced by Destiny to make choices he would have otherwise avoided. And despite his words, he doubted Vesemir himself had stayed out of strife completely during his time on the road. His words spoke more of experience than ideals. 

“Who rules Cintra now?”

“No one,” Jaskier said. “It fell when Nilfgaard attacked. There is a war in the south and the land is burning. The Elves are chasing empty promises and murdering humans in the name of freedom tainted by revenge. The North is drowning in refugees and the stink of fear as the encroaching army swallows entire countries one by one.” 

“Poetic,” Corbyn said, his tone dry.

Jaskier shrugged. “Occupational habit. I'm a bard.”

Silence fell again for a while until a question occurred to Jaskier.

“Corbyn?”

“Hmm.” 

“How the hell do you brew tea underwater?”

The other man chuckled and rolled over to get comfortable. “I'll show you in the morning.” Jaskier settled in and yawned. Maybe he'd actually get some rest this time.


	4. Reclaimed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually read or write forced oral but this is with an object and not a body part.

Jaskier woke to Corbyn's hand on his shoulder. He offered him a blue potion bubble and he choked it down as quickly as he could. How long had he slept? He stretched and yawned, feeling significantly better than he had in a while. Following the other man into the main room, they ate a breakfast of fish and berries with tea and water. Corbyn took him around the side of the house to where a small thermal vent heated the water in steady stream. The stone around the vent was carved into a round opening like an inverted well that flowed up and produced hot water. He used magic to form bubbles and pulled some of them aside to cool before putting them in a jar. For a few others, he put in a packet of leaves and waited until they brewed to a golden brown. They were filtered through a cloth and gathered in another jar. 

“Did you carve all of this?”

“I have a lot of time on my hands,” Corbyn said as they went back inside and he set the jars on one of the shelves. “The worst thing about living here is the lack of books. I miss reading.” 

Jaskier couldn't imagine trying to keep himself occupied for a hundred years. He was already feeling fidgety. It was the feeling he got that was only soothed by traveling. It was hard for him to stay in one place for so long, especially when there were so few people. A trill of singing rang form outside, and he looked out the nearest window. He was relieved to see that it wasn't Okestyra. Irulae waited at the edge of the field. Corbyn sang back, his rich baritone curling the foreign Elder Speech softly. Only then did she move forward.

“Irulae is an ally of sorts,” Corbyn said.

“We've met.” Jaskier went out to greet her. As she came closer, he saw that the golden bands around Irulae's wrists were similar to the copper ones on Corbyn. She must be a prisoner as well due to whatever bargain she'd made. “Is it safe for you to be out? I thought she told you to stay put.”

“She isn't my master,” Irulae snapped.

“I would not repeat that in her presence,” Corbyn said dryly. “What do you want?”

“Him.” She nodded at Jaskier. 

Corbyn crossed his arms, his posture imposing. “Why?”

“I need him to talk to is Witcher.”

“Talk to him yourself if you must.” 

Jaskier felt a tightness in his belly and tingles along his nerves. He put his hand on the other man's arm. “Maybe I could. . .”

“No.” 

“But I need to see him!” Jaskier's desperation was making him feel a little sick. 

“I cannot let you.” Corbyn's eyes were still gold, so he was still himself but he seemed firm. “I understand your desire to leave, but I have not survived a century in the ocean with her by making foolish decisions.” 

“But he might be able to beat her.” Jaskier pleaded with him, the thought of seeing Geralt blocking out everything else.

“That is what I thought.”

“May the Sea save me from romantic idiots,” Irulae sneered. “While you're having your little lover's quarrel, time is running out. Let's go.”

“You seem to misunderstand your role here,” Corbyn said turning back to her. “I do not take orders from you.” 

“He's my ticket out of this hell hole,” she said. “I have it all planned out and I can get you out too,” she said with a huff. “But it has to be now.” She swam forward a bit and placed her hands on Corbyn's chest. “ She wouldn't be able to touch you. Don't you want to see the sun again?” 

“You are not the first who thought they could thwart her,” he said, taking her hands gently and pushing her back. “Go back to wherever she sent you.” 

The mermaid's expression was full of sorrow and she curled forward to put her face in her hands. Jaskier felt for her. He didn't know how long she'd been held captive, but he'd only been down here a couple days and he was already feeling the strain. Corbyn sighed as her shoulders started to shake. 

“Irulae. . .” He reeled back and coughed as she raised her hand and blew across her open palm. A bright yellow cloud drifted over Corbyn's face and the Witcher slumped in the water, his arms falling limply to his sides. His body relaxed and he drifted slowly to the sea floor. 

“Corbyn!” Jaskier swam back out of range, hitting the wall of the house as Irulae advanced on him. “What happened to talking? I was going to help you!”

“It's too late for that. The moment she gave you to her pet Witcher, everything changed.” She reached into the pouch that had been hidden at her spine and pushed him against the stone. A bright yellow sponge the color of the dust she'd blown in Corbyn's face was pressed over his face. It made the water around his mouth thicken and he felt dizzy. 

“I have no interest in hurting you, but I value my life far more than yours,” she said as his consciousnesses faded. 

*******

Jaskier blinked his eyes open and took a breath. It made his head spin. His hands were tied behind him and he was gagged with a thick strip of fabric between his teeth. Another broader piece was tied over his face so it covered his nose and mouth. At the edge of his vision, he could see that it was smeared with the yellow dust and taking deep breaths made his vision swim. He lay back and tried to relax while taking shallow breaths. He was curled up on a stone shelf with his bound hands secured to the end of his tail. His perch overlooked a steep drop further down into the water. It was dark and he couldn't see very far but the stars were visible through a wavering curtain above him. He couldn't be more than a dozen feet below the surface. It was so close but he was unable to swim up there. Irulae swam into his line of vision and he glared at her as he pressed back into the stone shelf. 

“Be grateful. This should be over for you soon.” Her voice was cold. 

She pulled out a black glass knife and cut the line between his hands and tail and pulled him up. Swimming with her fingers curled around his bicep, she dragged him along for a while until the hull of a ship was visible. Jaskier felt his heart speed up, his pulse pounding as they breached the surface. It became harder to breathe in the air until she ripped off the fabric covering his face, leaving the gag in his mouth. They were about ten feet away from the small boat and Irulae held them up with the movement of her tail while keeping an arm around his waist. A white haired figure leaned over the railing with a torch in his hand and Jaskier cried out behind the gag, his words garbled by the fabric. Geralt's eyes focused on him and a look of intense relief passed over his face. 

“Are you hurt?” he called out to him over sound of waves against the hull. 

That was such a complicated answer and Jaskier felt tears prick at his eyes as he sniffed. It was probably too dark for his tail to be seen beneath the water, but the look on his face must have been answer enough. Geralt looked like he was about to dive in so he could take him away from all of this and murder anyone who got in his way. Irulae held up the knife and Jaskier tilted his head back, flinching as a shuddering whimper escaped him. He didn't have it in him to be brave right now.

“Here he is, like you asked. He'll be fine if you keep your end of the deal,” Irulae said. 

“Harm him and you won't live long enough to enjoy your hollow victory.” Geralt's voice was a low growl as he stared steadily at the mermaid. 

“Fulfill the contract and I won't have to. You have the formula for the potion?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I'll be wait. . .Urk!” She was cut off as something dragged them beneath the surface. Jaskier screamed behind the gag as the blade of the knife sliced across his right shoulder. There was a splash from near the boat and through a wispy cloud of blood, he saw Geralt dive into the water with his crossbow drawn. Jaskier didn't dare struggle to free himself or swim toward Geralt. He didn't know where the knife was. Purple scales glinted in the torch light from the ship as Corbyn sped past his line of sight. 

“You're going to ruin everything!” Irulae screamed. 

She slashed out with the knife. Corbyn maneuvered around her easily and Jaskier was able to wiggle out of her grasp. He kicked, but only ended up moving himself deeper into the water. He couldn't change direction very well with his hands tied behind him. His captive legs weren't as flexible as a real Mer tail. Irulae and Corbyn were between him and Geralt, swimming in coiled circles as she tried to stab him with the knife and he tried to take it from her without getting cut. The former Witcher twirled his fingers and gestured at the mermaid, sending her flying back in the water. 

Geralt froze in the water, but Jaskier wasn't sure it was because he'd just seen a merman perform a Witcher sign or because he was seeing Jaskier's tail for the first time. Jaskier kicked in the water, trying to propel himself upward awkwardly. But Irulae recovered and came at him with the knife. Before she could reach him, a crossbow bolt caught her through the throat. He saw the light fade from her eyes and felt a quick pang of pity. Corbyn swam past her body and grabbed Jaskier around the waist before speeding deeper into the water.. His eyes were a pale white and Jaskier twisted in his grip, making his shoulder burn along the cut. He couldn't hold in the muffled wail the escaped him as he was pulled away. Geralt's form got smaller as they swam deeper and before long, he was out of sight completely. There was no way Geralt would be able to up with them and Jaskier went limp in Corbyn's arms.

They swam for quite some time and he wondered how far Irulae had brought him when he was unconscious. The berry fields and Corbyn's house came into view, but they didn't stop there. When the sunken temple came into view Jaskier nearly cried again, a muffled sob escaping him. He was brought inside and laid gently on the altar in the main chamber. Corbyn went over to the shelves and returned with two jars before untying him and removing the gag. Jaskier closed his eyes and lay back as the other man examined the wound and dressed it with salve and leaves. It was deep enough to need stitches. A cold numbness spread over his shoulder and he wished every part of him could go numb. He'd been so close. Geralt had been right there. Jaskier could feel Corbyn floating at his side but didn't look at him. He didn't want to see his pale, empty eyes staring blankly at him. 

“You're hurt, little fish.” Okestyra's voice was both gentle and cold as she swam up from the chamber below. “Corbyn is usually more careful than this.” 

Jaskier turned his head to look at her. “It wasn't his fault. It was Irulae.” She'd tried to kill him. There had been desperation in her eyes when she charged him with the knife. 

“So compassionate,” she said as she cupped his cheek. Her mouth curled in a cruel smile. “And weak.” 

Jaskier didn't consider it a weakness and he'd never let anyone convince him otherwise. She could think what she wanted. He just stared up at her sullenly.

“I am well aware of that little traitor's plans. She thought to hire the Witcher to kill me. Tell me, how did she meet her end?”

Corbyn coiled down on his tail and bowed. “The Witcher Geralt slew her with his crossbow. She tried to murder Jaskier when she realized she could not win.”

“Hmmm,” she mused. 

Okestyra sat on the edge of the altar and peeled the dressing away from Jaskier's shoulder to look at the wound for a moment. Leaning down over him, she caught Jaskier's lips in a kiss that made him feel like she was the only thing in the world. He'd do anything to please here. She sang against his lips and cupped his wounded shoulder in her hand. She swallowed his scream as white hot pain lanced across his shoulder. He continued to want her even though it hurt. When the pain finally faded, he lay panting on the stone, shuddering from the magic she'd forced on him as his mind cleared. A soft orb was placed on his tongue and he felt it expand to fill his mouth. He whined as she molded another gag over his lips.

“Hush. “ She kissed the hardening panel directly over his mouth, looking into his eyes as she did so. He saw only cold intelligence and cruelty. She took one of his hands and examined the webbing between his fingers, clicking her tongue. “To much freedom sends the wrong message,” she murmured. “You haven't earned this yet.”

Taking another larger black sphere, she coated his left hand entirely, encasing it in black. Curling his fingers, she formed his hand into a fist. When it solidified into a solid lump of black, he couldn't move his fingers at all. Okestyra leaned in to kiss his forehead when he started to cry before binding his right hand. When she was done, she gently rolled him over onto his stomach and folded his arms across his lower back. His cheek rested on the cool stone as he felt something being wrapped around his forearms, binding them inside a sheath that held his curled fists tight against the opposite elbows. 

When she was done, her hand glided down his hip and he rolled away from her onto her left side, curling up as he turned his face down against the stone. She just laughed and swam away for a moment before returning. She set Corbyn's medallion down on the altar in front of him and he only had a moment before he felt her press the tip of the Witcher's shaft replica into him. Jaskier tried to pull his hips away but Corbyn's hands settled on his waist and knees, holding him in his curled position. He whined as she twisted it bank and forth and inserted all the way. She sang to seal it in and moved to the end of the altar. 

Corbyn shifted him and stretched his legs out straight again so Okestyra could coil a strap around the end of his tail above his flukes. After securing it to the altar she moved above him and stretched a thick strap cross his upper back and threaded it under his arms. It was secured to the corners of the stone slab above his head, holding him down on his back. Jaskier's arms were pinned beneath him, arching his back uncomfortably. He felt the fullness within him, but his own hardening length lay tucked away in the hidden pouch, creating an insistent pressure. He writhed on the altar, bucking his hip as Okestyra curled her fingers in the air and made the shaft inside him push back and forth. The ridge of scales running down his cleft tightened, squeezing the globes of his ass tightly. His entire pelvic region was a mass of pressure, unwanted pleasure, and a twinge of tight pain. 

Jaskier let out a thin whine that was cut off in a guttural gurgle as the mass in his mouth shifted and pushed further into his mouth and teased the back of his throat. His eyes snapped open wide as it retreated again and he made a heavy grunting sound. Corbyn was leaning over him. Okestyra floated behind the other man and hung the medallion around his neck so it dangled in Jaskier's face. Corbyn's hands were braced on either side of his head and he stared down into his face with no expression, but there was something flickering in his eyes. 

Jaskier didn't have time to contemplate what he was seeing before his mouth was invaded again and the shaft inside his body thrust at the same time. It started out as teasing movements, but steadily became deeper. Jaskier arched his back as much as the straps would allow, trying not to gag. His tongue was held tightly down as the intrusion slid further in and he was forced to hold his head still to ease its passage against his instincts. The thrusting sped up on both ends and he had to relax his muscles as the gag started to fuck his throat. The filthy, choking sounds coming from him made tears spring to his eyes. Okestyra sang, directing the abuse of his body. Her words were foreign but the message was clear: Mine. The touching no longer felt arousing. He just felt used. 

Mercifully, it didn't last long. The object in his throat retreated and the entire mass shifted. It pried his jaw open and hollowed out in the middle so he could breath through his mouth. But his tongue was still captive and he was unable to speak. The assault on his rear continued, the fierce thrusting forcing hollow gurgling sounds from him that echoed in the chamber. He lost track of time as she continued to play with him and he went nearly numb. When he no longer responded the way she liked, she pressed impatiently at the scales over his crotch to release his cock. But a hand caught her wrist, keeping her from releasing him. Through an exhausted haze, Jaskier saw Corbyn glaring at her. A pale thread of gold was creeping into his eyes. 

“No more,” Corbyn ground out between clenched teeth. 

Okestyra stared at him, a look of utter shock on her face. It shifted quickly into fury and Jaskier desperately tried to say something, not wanting her to hurt him. He grunted as she barked an order and his mouth filled in solidly with his jaw still held wide. It continued to slide down over his chin to his throat, wrapping thickly around it in a soft hold. All sounds from him were now so muffled, they could barely be heard. He screamed when the shaft in him curled and hit something that made stars burst in his vision, but it came out as a soft thread of sound with only the tone betraying his desperation. Corbyn twisted Okestyra's wrist and darted to the side, dragging her away from the altar. She screeched and twisted.

“A hundred years, and now you choose to defy me?” Her face was a mask of rage. 

“A hundred years too long,” he said, his breath heaving in his chest with strain. 

The medallion on his chest shivered and Okestyra reached out to grab it with her free hand as she realized her mistake. But Corbyn was too quick as he cleanly snapped her wrist before gliding around her to avoid her grasp. Her scream was an ugly rippling sound that made Jaskier wince and squeeze his eyes shut when it assaulted him. Corbyn's voice soothed as he began to sing and Jaskier felt the gag loosening. He worked it out with his tongue, his breaths coming out in quick pants as he twisted his head to get it off of him. He gasped in greedy breaths when he mouth was free and the last of it slid off his neck to float limply next to him. The shaft in him started to pull its way out and he twisted his hips to the side to make room. He pushed with his inner muscles and was rewarded when it was removed completely. The scales slid closed over his opening, but he was still bound tightly to the altar with only enough room to wriggle uselessly.

Corbyn continued to fight, still gripping Okestyra's broken wrist in his hand like he was afraid to let go. The fingers of her other hand now had scythe like claws that sliced through the water. She tried to sing and use her magic against him, but his baritone overwhelmed her voice. Finding and opening, her talons sliced along his right side, sending a waving thread of blood swirling through the water. Jaskier struggled even though he probably wouldn't be able to help. But he couldn't lay still and do nothing. Corbyn's song faltered as the claws stabbed into his chest.

“Corbyn!” 

The other man released her broken wrist and floated back in the water, his eyes losing focus. As Okestyra pulled back for the killing blow, she screamed again. The shaft of a crossbow bolt impaled her hand and she whirled around toward the door. Geralt was already reloading where he floated at the entrance, murder in his eyes as he took in the sight of Jaskier laid out on the altar. Jaskier felt his eyes sting again as his stomach flipped. He hadn't been sure he'd ever see him again. 

“Please don't let her kill him!” Jaskier gasped out. If Geralt heard him, he wasn't sure. He fired again, the bolt hitting Okestyra in the shoulder instead of the throat as she shifted in the water. But she wasn't nearly as nimble as a Mer. Her legs just didn't propel her in the water the same way a tail would. That was probably why she traveled with the help of dolphins instead of swimming under her own power like Irulae and Corbyn did. 

Geralt reloaded quickly and fired off one last shot as Okestyra launched herself at him. Discarding the crossbow, he pulled a silver knife from his belt. Her singing rose to a crescendo as her talons flashed. But Corbyn's thready voice still undercut her efforts. Whatever she was trying to do wasn't working as she intended. Her eyes blinked in disbelief as the knife pierced her throat, cutting off her song abruptly. Geralt ripped the knife sideways and she let out one last gurgle as the light left her eyes. Jaskier's heart started to pound as he remembered what Irulae had told him about the curse. 

“Geralt?” his voice came out as a quavering whimper. Geralt eyed the lifeless body before him warily to make sure she was dead, but didn't show any signs that he was starting to choke. The curse of only breathing air must have been a lie like the rest of what Irulae told him. Jaskier felt a brief pang of regret for her passing, wishing that they could have freed her. But it was too late for that now. He struggled where he lay, but the straps still held him tightly. Whatever magic Okestyra had used to transform and bind him was still firmly in place. Geralt swam over to him and cut the straps, releasing him from the altar. But he frowned when he took in the tail and the sheath holding his arms behind him. He sheathed the knife, not daring to use it and risk hurting him. 

“It's not. . .” Jaskier had to swallow when Geralt's fingers gently brushed the scales along his hip. “It's not real. It's just a covering. I still have legs under here.” Bending his legs, Jaskier moved to sit up. Geralt helped him with an arm under his shoulders. Jaskier didn't have any leverage with his arms bound. He looked over to Corbyn but couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. “Is he still alive?”

“Who is he?” Geralt's rumbling voice came out as a low mumble and it was hard to hear.

“His name is Corbyn and he's a Witcher. He took a contract to kill her and she kept him down here for more than a century. Please help him. Those two jars have salve and dressings,” he said, nodding at the jars that had been knocked to the floor.

Frowning and glancing at Jaskier's tail one more time, Geralt took the jars and swam over to check on the other man who opened his eyes slowly. Corbyn saw Okestyra's body and smiled quietly at Jaskier. 

“Finally.” The copper rings around his wrists and tail had fallen off when she died. He held still as Geralt silently examined his wounds and dressed them. The talon wounds on his chest made him purse his lips.

“These are deep.”

“Yes.” Corbyn's breathing appeared to be labored as he glanced down. “If it's not too much trouble, Brother,” he said, his voice low. “I would like to see the sun one last time.”

A muscle in Geralt's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He guided Corbyn over toward the altar so he could wrap an arm around Jaskier and pull him close to his body. Jaskier sighed and buried his nose in Geralt's neck, trembling as he was finally being held with honest tenderness. Love swamped him. Geralt had rescued him many times from danger, but this time he'd traveled to the very depths of the ocean to get him back. 

Together the three of them left the temple and traveled upward. Jaskier hoped Corbyn would survive the swim to the surface. He felt a sharp pang that his own freedom might be paid for with another man's life. It was slow going and Jaskier tried to help propel them but he was sore, his hips aching terribly and couldn't keep it up for long. Just as he was about to try again, his vision blurred and salt stung his eyes. He coughed a choking breath as his lungs suddenly rejected the water they had freely been accepting all this time. 

He couldn't breathe. 

He couldn't breeeeeathe. 

His body bucked automatically as it fought to survive in an environment that no longer accepted his presence. Through the growing darkness, he thought he heard Corbyn's voice.

“Leave me. Take him to the surface. . .”

Water rushed past them as Geralt desperately swam upward, using Aard to propel them. Even as the light around them brightened, his vision got darker until he couldn't see. 

It hurt and it was so, so cold. 

The next thing Jaskier was aware of was a hard pounding on his chest and Geralt yelling his name.

“BREATHE you son of a bitch!” 

Jaskier jerked and coughed as a gurgling gush of seawater spilled over his lips. He was rolled onto his side to expel the last of the water that was choking him. Sand coated his cheek as he coughed and gagged, the air burning him as it reclaimed dominion in his chest. He lay on a beach with the morning sun shining over him. Geralt was leaning over him with the most distressed expression he'd ever seen on his face.

“I beg your pardon,” Jaskier said, his voice rough from days underwater. “My mother was a saint.” 

Geralt huffed a sobbing laugh and brushing away the damp strands of hair that were plastered to his forehead before leaning down to kiss him. It was a hard press of lips, rough with sand and salt. Jaskier tried to sit up and press closer, but his legs were still encased in the damned tail sheath and his arms were held behind him. Every part of him was damp from the sea and Geralt's clothes dripped all over him. Gods, Jaskier was tired of being wet. His shuddering breaths turned into sobs as all of it overwhelmed him. He sniffed wetly and started shaking uncontrollably. 

Geralt sat and drew him into his lap, holding him close and tucking his head under his chin. Geralt's hold was firm but gentle, offering safety and comfort. Jaskier curled into him and cried until he had nothing left. He was tired and sore and being bound out of the water was a heavier, more restrictive feeling. It was hard to move and he was completely dependent on the other man right now. But he trusted Geralt implicitly. He felt himself being rocked gently as the other man held him close. After a while, he quieted to soft hiccups and then he finally slept, his breathing becoming deep and even as he drifted off in Geralt's arms.


	5. Released

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's continued on to the end. This has been a lovely ride and it was a wonderful distraction during such strange times.

When Jaskier woke, he lay curled on a clean bedroll by a warm fire on the beach. The sun was moving lower in the sky and he felt pleasantly warmed by the afternoon sun and the hot stones circling the flames of the fire pit. While the tail still held his legs tightly, his arms and hands were free. Jaskier flexed his fingers, picking at the last bits of drying crumbs that clung to his skin. He was dressed in one of Geralt's shirts and it loosely covered his torso. For the first time, he realized that he hadn't been able to smell anything underwater. Turning his head and pressing his nose against his shoulder, he breathed in the smell of pine, earth, and sweat. Geralt needed to do laundry again, but the familiarity of the scent felt like home. But he didn't see the man anywhere. 

“Geralt?” he called as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. When he didn't appear, he felt a pang of worry. “Geralt!?”

“I'm here.” The gravely growl of the man's voice came from the trees at the edge of the beach. He was carrying an arm full of firewood and a full water skin. He was in his shirtsleeves, his armor laying by the packs that sat at Roach's feet. “Of course you're awake the moment I step away,” Geralt grumbled without any heat. “You slept all damned day.”

“Corbyn, is he. . .”

“He's fine,” the other man said as he set down the wood and nodded at the other side of the fire. Jaskier twisted around to see Corbyn sitting propped up against a slanted rock, his tail and hands submerged in a deep tidal pool. The Witcher medallion winked on its chain and his mussed braid trailed over his shoulder to rest on the clean linen bandages wrapping his chest. His breathing was steady as his dark honey eyes opened to regard him calmly. 

“Your companion is stubborn, refusing to let a man die with dignity.”

“If you really wanted to die that badly, you wouldn't have waited all this time,” Geralt said as he fed wood to the fire. His bored tone told Jaskier that this conversation had been going on for a while and he was beyond done with it.

“Have Witchers developed the power to read minds in the time I've been gone?” Corbyn sat up, his eyes angry. “You have no idea what I have done. That you would assume I would not want to be released from this existence. . .”

“Melodramatic prick,” Jaskier said, shutting him up mid-sentence.

Corbyn stopped with his mouth open before closing it with a click. He lay back and sighed but didn't argue further. Geralt glanced between the two of them as he handed Jaskier the water skin, his brow raised. 

“What was that about?”

“Just reminding him that no matter how many times he tries to fall on his sword, none of this was his fault.” 

Corbyn's jaw tightened but he didn't say anything. Jaskier drank gratefully, letting the cool water soothe his raw throat. Days underwater had left his voice rough and sore. He nearly cried again as he was handed a hunk of bread. 

“Have you eaten anything since I last saw you?” Geralt's voice held both worry and menace, like he would punish anyone who dared starve him during his captivity. 

“Yes. It's just. . . never mind,” Jaskier said, sinking his teeth into the bread and chewing with pleasure. Food underwater didn't have much texture, but he wasn't sure how he could explain it without talking about other things he'd rather forget. He looked down at the tail still wrapped around his legs as he ate. Whatever it was made of was gray and cracking now that it wasn't submerged in water. The flukes had been reduced to ragged tatters that crumbled when he moved. Whatever beauty it had held underwater was gone now and all that was left was an ugly, drying husk that was sticky and damp on the inside. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked him as came over to help prop him up on their packs and shifted him so his legs were closer to the fire so the sheath could continue to dry out.

“Yeah, just feeling fidgety I guess.” Now that he was looking at it, it was starting to itch. Lifting up the hem of the shirt, Jaskier picked at the ridge of crumbling scales that sat low on his belly.

“This is the point where I take my leave,” Corbyn said.

“What?” Jaskier snapped his head up to see the other man peeling away the bandages from his chest to examine the wounds. They were scabbed over and were no longer bleeding, but the punctures on his chest still looked angry and raw. “Stay. You're not healed yet.”

“Your Witcher's potions have done their job. The rest just requires time. Just as you did not belong underwater, I no longer belong above the waves.” 

“We'll find a way to fix you,” Jaskier said. “I can't leave you like this.” He wasn't sure how he would accomplish that, but he'd find a way. He knew it could be done. 

“It is my choice.” Corbyn's voice cracked on the last word as if the truth of that seemed to settle in for the first time. He took a breath to steady himself. “Besides, my swords are still below. I would have them back before I decide what to do next.” He held up a webbed hand to forestall further protest. “Now that I am no longer her thrall, there are more options available to me and I may travel wherever I wish.”

“Okay.” Jaskier's breath left him in a sigh. He leaned into Geralt who had settled beside him. He wasn't sure what he expected really, but he found he didn't want to see him go.

“Besides, freeing you from your prison is sure to be an uncomfortable and. . .intimate process,” Corbyn said carefully. “I would prefer to give you privacy.” 

Jaskier swallowed and tried to ignore the growing discomfort around and in between his legs. It itched. Everywhere. Curling his hands into fists, he tried to resist the urge to claw at the cracked scales over his crotch. He watched as Corbyn lifted himself out of the tide pool and headed towards the water. The tide was receding and if he was going to leave, it would be easier to do it now. Geralt made no move to help him as he eased himself into the waves but nodded when he looked back one last time.

“Safe travels on the Path,” Geralt said. 

“And to you,” Corbyn replied before looking at Jaskier. “Farewell, Jaskier the Bard. I would like to hear you sing someday.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

And then he slipped beneath the waves, leaving Jaskier and Geralt alone on the beach. Jaskier blew out a long breath and felt the other man wrap an arm around his waist before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“You make the strangest friends,” he murmured into his hair.

“Indeed I do, my dear Witcher.”

They sat for a while watching the sun set over the ocean, its pink blush washing the beach in a rose colored glow. The quiet scene was broken as Jaskier finally lost his patience.

“Auuugh!” Jaskier dug into the cracked scales, peeling at them roughly and trying to pry them off his skin. “Fuck!” 

Geralt caught his hands, stilling them before he could hurt himself. “Carefully.”

“YOU be careful,” Jaskier snapped. “I feel like my cock is covered in fucking ants!” He let out a shuddering breath and tried to calm down. “Sorry. It's just. . .” He shifted his legs and felt the covering near his ankles tear. 

“It's alright. Here,” Geralt said as he moved down towards Jaskier's feet. 

Working carefully with his fingers, he started freeing him of the material. Jaskier wiggled his toes when they were finally freed and enjoyed the sensation of open air on his skin. He hissed when Geralt continued peeling and it started to pull at the hair on his shins. When the other man paused, he waved him on and leaned back against the packs. 

“Keep going,” he winced. “The sooner we get this shite off of me, the better.” He tried to lay still as Geralt worked, but he kept shifting and twisting where he lay, swearing whenever a particularly tough patch pulled free. When they got to his knees, they had to pause several times because it was so thick where it encased his thighs. Geralt would peel a layer away and they'd have to to let it dry and crack more so he could continue to peel off more. Jaskier started working on the material at his waist and peeled away the thicker ridges of scales, discarding the crumbling pieces as they came away in his fingers. 

Finally, they were down to the section that was cupped around his groin and hips. Rolling onto his stomach and resting his head on his arms, Jaskier closed his eyes as Geralt carefully started peeling the material off his ass. He parted his cleft gently, pulling the ridges of scales loose. Jaskier would have hardened at the feel of Geralt's hands on him but his disgust at having the sheath peeled off kept his arousal at bay. And while the itch along his skin was easing, it still remained. He groaned as Geralt rolled him over onto his back to finish with the last pieces. They stubbornly clung to his cock and the space between his balls and his ass. Pulling caused too much pain to pull it away like the rest. Spreading Jaskier's legs and drawing his knees up, Geralt turned him toward the fire and moved over to add more wood. 

“Did you find anything in the swamp?” Jaskier asked, desperate for a distraction as he curled his fingers in the fabric of the shirt he wore. He stared up at the sky where stars were starting to appear. 

“Only mosquitoes and snakes.” 

Of course he hadn't found anything. Okestyra had the villagers send him out on a wild goose chase to she could have Jaskier thrown into the sea.

“What do you say we head towards Vizima when we're done here?” He would be fine not seeing the ocean again for a while. 

“Hmm.” 

“Geralt?” 

There was a quiet sigh. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For coming to get me.”

Geralt lay down next to him and turned his head to look him in the eyes. His expression was solemn. “I will always come for you.”

Jaskier swallowed, a single tear slipping down his cheek as Geralt kissed him softly. He pressed his lips to his cheeks, his nose, his lashes, and finally his forehead. Jaskier took slow steady breaths, trying not to shudder as emotion shook him. Geralt's hand moved down and carefully started to peel away the last pieces that were sticking to his groin. Jaskier's breath hitched and Geralt leaned in to catch his lips, biting at his mouth and swiping his tongue inside as he worked the material off him. Jaskier mewled into his mouth, partly from the pain, and partly from the kiss that stole what was left of his breath. When the last piece was free, he Geralt tossed it aside got up to grab a cloth from his bag. Wetting it in the ocean, he brought it back to wipe the last traces from Jaskier's body. Jaskier lay quietly for a moment, spreading his legs wider and ignoring the soreness in his hips from being held in one position too long. He was too happy to be free to care.

“When you're ready, we can head to the inn. You can have a bath and sleep in a bed. I've had a room booked there all week.”

Jaskier wanted nothing more than to sink into a soft mattress, but he wasn't sure about the rest. “I've been wet enough to last me quite a while, thank you.” 

“We need to get the salt off your skin. It's either a hot bath at the inn or a dip in the stream on the way there.” 

“A bath then,” Jaskier said, liking the thought of plunging into a frigid stream even less. His skin was wrinkled and stiff where it was exposed to the open air, causing a different kind of discomfort. He sat up, not wanting to spend the night on the sand. “I suppose I should put some trousers on,” he muttered as he tried to stand. But his legs wouldn't hold him and he ended up on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Geralt handed him his trousers and helped him pull them up his legs before packing up the camp and putting out the fire. Once everything was stowed away, Geralt helped Jaskier mount. It hurt to sit in the saddle and his hips were on fire but there was no way he was walking anywhere right now. Geralt walked beside the horse instead of mounting behind him, not wanting to put further stress on his body. The ride was mercifully short and after they'd stabled Roach, Geralt carried him inside and asked for a bath to be drawn and two meals as he sat Jaskier on a bench at one of the tables. It was late and there were only a couple people left in the tavern, the rest having gone home already. 

“Of course, Master Witcher,” the innkeeper said as he set down the mug he held and moved toward the kitchen. He brought out two bowls of stew with bread and mugs of ale. Jaskier skipped the ale and started on the stew. He was suddenly starving. 

When they were done eating, Geralt helped him down the hall with an arm around his waist. The pain in his legs was easing and moving helped. But when they got to the washroom, he stopped in the doorway. The full bathtub made his breath catch, which was ridiculous. The water would only come up to his knees. It's not like he was going to be fully submerged. Geralt rubbed a hand up and down his back sensing his hesitation. He hugged him close and murmured in his ear before helping him undress. Then he undressed himself and Jaskier relaxed again when he realized the other man would be getting in the tub with him. 

Jaskier sucked in a breath when he stepped into the steaming water. The heat sank into him and eased his aches. Geralt sat him down and settled behind him before pulling out a bar of mint and rosemary soap and starting to clean the salt from his skin. That was new. He hadn't had the chance to get any more since he'd used up his last bar. Jaskier hadn't realized just how cold it had been under the ocean until he could compare it to this. Geralt's hands were gentle as they slicked the soap over his skin and washed his hair. He lingered over the pink line of scar tissue along his right shoulder, pressing his lips gently to the mark. It would heal cleaner than if it had been stitched closed, but he'd carry the reminder forever. As Geralt's fingers grazed over the inside of his thigh, Jaskier's breath hitched. 

“Is this okay?” Geralt asked him, moving the pads of his fingers in small circles, allowing him to relax and get comfortable again. 

“Yes,” Jaskier breathed, leaning back against him. 

Geralt pressed another kiss to his shoulder, nibbling and licking up his neck as he splayed his hand against Jaskier's thigh and slid it further up towards his groin. Jaskier reached back to curl his fingers around the nape of Geralt's neck as he tilted his head to give him more access. He was already hard, the touch enough to arouse him, but Jaskier didn't think he had it in him to be teased. He put his hand on Geralt's and slid it up farther. 

“Please.”

Calloused fingers curled around him, sliding lazily up and down his shaft. Jaskier bucked up into his hand, but the other man kept the pace slow.

“Geralt. . .”

“I don't want to hurt you.” The careful tone had Jaskier bristling and he paused before pulling away to sit on the other side of the tub. There wasn't a lot of room, but he was suddenly desperate for space. He saw a kind of helpless worry in the other man's eyes. 

“He told you,” Jaskier said quietly, feeling anxiety curling up his spine.

“I needed to know what happened so I could help you.” Geralt sat and made no move to pull him back, keeping his posture as non-threatening as possible. Jaskier shook his head and curled in on himself. He blew a blew a breath out and tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart. 

“What do you need?” Geralt asked. He appeared to be desperate to ease the rising tension. 

“I don't know,” Jaskier whispered. He took a shuddering breath, suddenly very tired. 

After spending years with the man, he'd come to know him extremely well. He knew how difficult this must be for him and how hard he was trying. Jaskier also knew he wasn't making it any easier by panicking. He trusted him more than anyone he'd ever known and the knowledge settled him. He held still as Geralt shifted over to his side of the tub. When the other man's hand curled around him again, he squeezed and slicked up and down at a quicker pace. Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled into Geralt's lap, forgiving him for being cautious and leaning up to kiss his jaw. The water sloshed against the sides of the tub as he thrust up into the other man's hand. He tilted his head back as Geralt kissed him on the mouth to quiet the whimpers escaping his lips. It didn't take him long to come and he wrapped himself around Geralt. The other man held him, kissing him through it before holding him tight and nuzzling his temple. 

When he was clean and calm again, Geralt helped him out of the tub and dried him off. He didn't bother dressing him and just wrapped him in a clean sheet that had been sitting on the bench before gathering him up in his arms. Jaskier let himself be carried up to their room, resting his head on the other man's shoulder. Up in the room, he was laid down on the bed and Geralt brought over a jar of chamomile lotion. There was a fire in the hearth and the room was warm as he took Jaskier's foot in his hand and started rubbing the lotion into his skin. 

Jaskier sighed and relaxed into the mattress as strong fingers pressed into the arch. Geralt continued massaging the lotion into him, working up his body slowly. Jaskier honestly felt better for it as his skin felt less stiff. By the time Geralt set the jar aside, he was pleasantly drowsy and he let out a soft hum as fingers splayed across his belly. But the touch wasn't arousing so much as comforting, like Geralt was reassuring himself that Jaskier was still there. Laying beside him, he drew Jaskier closer, slotting a knee between his thighs. Jaskier pressed closer and twined his legs around his, as he was tucked in against the other man's chest under the covers. 

“I'm sorry,” Jaskier said after a moment.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Geralt's reply was a soft murmur. Sometimes Jaskier wished his was more talkative so he could listen to his voice and feel the rumble of it through his body. He finally felt safe. It was such a difference, when touch was given and accepted freely out of love. He doubted the other man would let him out of his sight for a while, but Jaskier was fine with that. He'd shamelessly enjoy Geralt's attention and pampering while he was willing and patient enough to give it. He fell into a dreamless sleep feeling loved and cared for.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the LingoJam translator for The Witcher: Elder Speech. “Aé n'te dice te ghar” is actually “I don't possess your words” but that sounded odd in English. There was no direct translation for “I don't understand” or “I don't know.” I don't typically include other languages as written, but I like how Elder Speech looks on the page.


End file.
